Thirty five Wheeljacks
by sonofan8track
Summary: G1 What will eventually be 35 stories featuring Wheeljack. Suggestions for additional prompts are welcome. Any applicable warnings will be at the start of each story.
1. Book Reading Wheeljack

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, obviously. I'm not connected to Hasbro or Takara in any way.

**Just a note**: I've seen other people on here writing "28 fill-in-character's-name-here" things and I wanted to do one for Wheeljack, who needs the love. But I'm a rank amateur, and have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know what the prompts are. The only ones I remembered from here are "book-reading", and "drunk", so those are the ones I'm writing first. If anyone actually reads this and has some prompt ideas, I'm listening. Thanks!

* * *

Sparkplug walked into Wheeljack's lab, feeling in a particularly good mood. The Decepticons hadn't pulled anything for a few weeks now--which probably meant a big push from them sooner or later. But for now, it also meant that Sparkplug got to spend all his off hours helping out his friend on various fun and interesting projects. Usually Wheeljack was pressured to work on increasingly more exotic and deadly weaponry (which the mech didn't mind much, truth be told), but whenever the heavy explosives came out, Wheeljack forbade Sparkplug from participating.

Most 'bots would joke that Wheeljack was completely reckless and insane, with little regard for his own safety. But Sparkplug knew his friend better than most. He understood that with Wheeljack, everyone else's safety was of paramount importance, and Wheeljack always put everyone's well being before his own. Therefore, if something was likely to go _boom_ in a spectacular way, Sparkplug (or anyone else, for that matter) didn't get to play along. But with a bit of peace for a change, Wheeljack's busy CPU turned to more 'tame' gadgets. Well, relatively speaking, anyway.

"So, what are we working on today?" Sparkplug asked cheerfully. He had missed his friend.

Wheeljack was sitting at a long workbench, doing some delicate work on a small metallic device as it hummed faintly. At the same time, he was writing something down on a datapad, occasionally tapping the stylus against the lower part of his helm in thought before rapidly inscribing more complex runes and equations. He didn't answer, being completely absorbed in his work.

Sparkplug was used to having to get Wheeljack's attention. "Say, that's pretty lucky there, the way you can work so easily with both hands. Me, I'm right-handed. Couldn't do complicated work and write at the same time to save my life," Sparkplug declared.

Wheeljack finally noticed Sparkplug's arrival and looked up. "Huh?" he asked blankly, his vocal indicators flashing surprise.

Sparkplug chuckled. "Never mind, buddy," he quickly changed the subject. "Is that the thing we'll be working on?" Sparkplug pointed at the small u.f.o.-looking widget under Wheeljack's left hand.

"This? Nah. This is just a little somethin' I was modifying while waiting for you to show up. I've got some rough schematics for today's project over there," Wheeljack said, gesturing at a datapad lying across from him on the workbench. "You can take a look at 'em while I finish up. It won't take me but an astrotick."

"Sounds great," Sparkplug responded, climbing up into the chair Wheeljack had modified for him. He pulled the 'pad toward himself and activated the touch screen. "Huh. Looks like it's in Cybertronian," Sparkplug said, frowning. The other odd thing about it was, the runes definitely did _not_ look like Wheeljack's handwriting. Having read it often enough, through casual notes to elaborate plans, Sparkplug thought that he was pretty good at spotting it.

"Oh yeah, sorry 'bout that. Just tap the lower right-hand corner twice and it should come up in English. I wrote it out both ways," Wheeljack explained.

"Thanks," Sparkplug answered. He tapped the screen twice, and then he waited a moment or two. Nothing happened. "Uh, it's not working. Are you sure you translated this?" Sparkplug asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Lemme see it," Wheeljack said. He reached out to Sparkplug with a large gray hand, still gently fiddling with the inner circuitry of his invention with his other extremity. He picked up the datapad and read it for a few moments. "Oh, heh. This is one o' my...I guess you'd call 'em 'books'. I was reading it earlier while taking an energon break."

Wheeljack put the 'book' away in a drawer of the workbench. "Now I know that I left the schematics out for you...ah. Here it is!" Wheeljack exclaimed in triumph. "There ya go. It's all yours." He carefully placed the 'pad in front of Sparkplug.

Before he started to read, Sparkplug looked up at his friend. "So hey, Wheeljack? You like to read then?" Sparkplug inquired conversationally.

"Oh yeah, sure. All the time," Wheeljack replied absently, carefully connecting two extremely fine wires together.

"Great! So do I. What was that book about?" Sparkplug asked, tapping the new datapad twice. True to Wheeljack's word, the screen came up in English.

"Quantum mechanics," Wheeljack said, re-routing some connectors with what looked to Sparkplug's vision like a pair of small tweezers.

"Huh," Sparkplug responded, nonplussed. "Oookay. Just a bit of light reading, eh?"

"Yep," Wheeljack answered cheerfully. Apparently he completely missed the sarcasm in Sparkplug's voice.

Sparkplug shook his head, smiling faintly. Sometimes the gap between their two cultures yawned wide. But then again, he was sure that Spike had told him about how Bumblebee had shown his son the Cybertronian equivalent of comic books. Spike had been pretty excited to find that he shared yet another thing in common with his friend. So there had to be _some_ form of recreational writing on the Autobots' home planet. Huh.

Dismissing it for the moment, Sparkplug began to look over the rough schematics. Now there it was! Wheeljack's familiar, meticulously precise, and blocky handwriting. Interspersed between the tidy paragraphs of notations (which were written out in all caps) were drawings. Each was carefully measured and rendered with equal precision. In the middle of each straight line, a number was inscribed, every eight or two or whatever exactly like the next.

The mechanic chuckled to himself. Sparkplug recognized the style. There was a certain universal standard of drawing up blueprints which engineers on Earth were taught. It enabled each person to read another's plans with ease. If someone misinterpreted someone else's plans and acted on them incorrectly, it could spell disaster. Apparently Cybertronian engineers were no different, and Wheeljack then carried out that type of writing in everything he did. Sparkplug appreciated it every time Wheeljack left a note for him, letting him know what Wheeljack had in mind for the day.

Quickly scanning through the rest of the document, Sparkplug noticed another familiar bit of scribbling written off to the side. Ratchet must have looked over the notes at some point too; no one else Sparkplug knew wrote with such an illegible scrawl. He squinted at it, barely making out what looked like, _'So no big explosions this time, Jack? Are you sure you don't want to increase the power input on this? Nothing would make my day brighter than to have to piece you back together yet again.'_ That was Ratchet all right, with his twisted sense of humor and his terrible doctor's handwriting. He must be keeping up his English writing practice. Some 'bots were more fluent in it than others.

"Ah ha! That should do it!" Wheeljack declared, his vocal indicators flashing a brilliant blue as he spoke. Wheeljack went and deliberately placed his creation in a carefully labeled drawer.

Despite his reputation for absolute disorder, Wheeljack's workspace was actually the complete opposite. At first glance, a mech who didn't know any better would think that the huge amount of stuff crowding the lab was a sign of filth and chaos. Yet Wheeljack not only knew where everything was and kept everything relatively clean (in between massive explosions, that is), but anyone else who was remotely familiar with his system would be able to find everything as well. Each part was neatly organized in its own spot. The problem was, there was so _much_ of it. Wheeljack never threw anything out, claiming that one never knew when something might prove useful.

Wheeljack leaned over the table, his helm resting in one metal palm. "So, what'd ya think? Any good?" he asked.

"I think it's terrific! We should have some real fun with this," Sparkplug assured him. Speaking of fun... "About that book. You got any more lying around here?" he casually inquired. Surely Wheeljack didn't just read scientific text books for fun.

"Sure, though I don't keep most of them in my lab. Hey, that reminds me. There's somethin' I wanna show ya. I've been reading your Earth books too," Wheeljack said with obvious pride. "But they're a bit difficult to handle, being so small and all. So I made this device that can scan the books and put 'em into something a little easier for me to carry around."

"Let's see it," Sparkplug said, curious.

The engineer turned and retrieved something that vaguely resembled a smoothed and flattened clam shell. It was white and rectangular, with a hinge on one side, and a sliding panel on another. Wheeljack opened it to reveal a screen on one side of the inner flat clam shell, and some buttons on the other. He tapped some keys and the screen came to life.

While Sparkplug read the large screen, Wheeljack set a stack of hardback books down next to him. They truly _did_ look minuscule in the 'bot's hands. The human did a double take. He couldn't believe it. Astrophysics, civil engineering, advanced calculus, texts on stellar phenomena...geez, what was this guy's problem? Wheeljack was the best friend a guy could ask for, but this was just...wrong. On the screen was more of the same. Quantum theory or some such nonsense. No wonder he and Chip got on so well.

"Errr, Wheeljack? This is what you read in your spare time?" Sparkplug gestured to the pile next to him. His distaste must have come through in his voice, because Wheeljack narrowed his optics thoughtfully.

"Um, yeah. Why? What's wrong with 'em?" Wheeljack's helm fins blinked an intense white in confusion in time with his words.

"_This_," Sparkplug repeated with emphasis, hitting the stack of books, "is what you read for pleasure?" His voice sounded incredulous.

"Yes," Wheeljack answered slowly and clearly, just a bit annoyed, "I thought I already said that. I enjoy them. So what's the issue here?"

Sparkplug sighed. "Lemme see if I can explain. I raised Spike on my own when things didn't work out with his mom. After holding down a job, helping him with his homework, and taking him around to all his activities, there wasn't much time for myself. So the last thing I wanted to do was relax with a book that involved more work. Ya get it?"

White light lit up the sides of Wheeljack's cranium once more. "...No."

"Look. Sometimes ya just gotta shut off your brain, or, uh, central processor--what-have-you, and just do something mindless for fun. Your problem is, ya think too much buddy," Sparkplug stated.

"But there's those horror movies that I pick up on Teletran 1," Wheeljack defended himself. "I like those, and Ratchet always says they're stupid."

Sparkplug laughed. "Yeah, but you spend most of your time pointing out all the flaws in the production values and how you could do it better!"

"Well," Wheeljack replied sheepishly, his vocal indicators glowing a pale pink in embarrassment, "that blood did look pretty fake. I know I could fabricate somethin' a little more realistic. And those wires holdin' up the vampire were really obvious."

"Tell you what. I'll let you borrow some of my books, okay? I like to read crime novels and science fiction mostly. They're lots of fun," Sparkplug offered.

"Science _fiction_?" Wheeljack questioned.

"Yeah, it's mostly fantasy-type stuff. What things might be like in the future, or what humans think life might be like on other planets. I think you'll get a real kick outta what the writers imagine aliens must be like, seeing as how you've met the real thing," Sparkplug said.

"I _am_ the real thing!" Wheeljack joked. They laughed, and Sparkplug wondered if he dared to start Wheeljack off with _I, Robot_.

-END-

My first attempt at this. Pretty awful, eh?


	2. In Disguise Wheeljack

-In Disguise Wheeljack

**Note**: In this particular story, Wheeljack's appearance is a combination of the way he was drawn in the cartoon, and the real car he was based on. In the other stories, I'm mostly going with his cartoon appearance.

* * *

The area was what the humans would have called "rough". The section of the city in question was a mix of greasy-spoon diners, seedy convenience stores, warehouses that had been converted into loft apartments, so-called "gentlemen's clubs," and actual warehouses. Across the street from where Wheeljack was parked, were the type of apartments where iron bars covered all the windows, and guests had to be buzzed in via an intercom placed next to the locked metal entrance.

Wheeljack was disguised as his race car alt mode, attempting to blend in with his surroundings. He was under cover, guarding the warehouse beside him. It manufactured new, experimental weapons' parts. Unfortunately, according to their intelligence, the Decepticons had heard about these powerful new parts, and were supposedly very interested in using them to create a deadly super weapon. The Autobots, of course, could not allow that to happen.

In order to keep the innovative technology out of Decepticon hands, the humans had moved their manufacturing plant from the high-profile, fancy, and extremely obvious original location to the deceptively run-down warehouse where it currently resided. Hopefully it would be a spot the enemy would never think to look. Wheeljack, as the resident Autobot scientist and expert in weapons manufacture, offered to help the humans. He came up with various uses he thought the Decepticons might put the weapons' parts to, and attempted to devise several counter measures in case the Decepticons actually managed to steal the parts.

The human scientists were very impressed with Wheeljack's ability to understand their technology so completely, and his inventive genius in coming up with various new weapons of his own design to combat the possible threat. Because of this, and the fact that they got on so well together, the researchers insisted that Wheeljack be the one sent to protect their new manufacturing facility. Sure, he had a few projects going back at the base. Yet he was told he could work on some of the new weapons he designed for the human scientists at the warehouse as time permitted. So, Wheeljack was happy to watch over the place.

But it was also important that Wheeljack _not_ draw attention to himself. He figured, as all the Autobots did, that being a car would be enough to keep the humans from becoming suspicious. He had even devised a hologram driver in case he needed to go anywhere. (He wasn't supposed to transform unless absolutely necessary.) The Decepticons however would require a little something extra. Therefore, Wheeljack had his red Autobot symbol painted over white to match with his primary coloring. He was feeling very pleased with his cleverness. Hopefully, the bad 'bots in purple would take him for the real car Teletran 1 had based his alternate mode on. That was the plan, anyway.

The engineer was only on his first day of surveillance, and he was glad of the bright, warm weather, which perfectly matched his mood. He happily engaged in speculation on numerous upgrades he could make to his designs once the researchers set him loose in their lab for the day. After all, there was always room for improvement. There was also that particle beam accelerator he'd been tinkering with that he wanted to test. It was too dangerous to bring with him, but that didn't mean he couldn't run a few likely outcomes through his processor until he could get his hands on it again.

Countless scenarios marched through his CPU, all with varying degrees of success or failure—and the occasional resulting explosions, naturally. In another corner of his central processor, he ran intricate calculations on the weapons' upgrades. This covert guard duty stuff was a piece of oil cake! Wheeljack could not understand how some of the other guys would complain about being bored. He mentally hummed a little tune to himself, something he'd heard Jazz blasting away during their last post-battle engagement with the Decepticons.

Two teenagers walked by on their way home from school, joking with one another. The first boy, bandana tied around his head at a jaunty angle, an old flannel worn open over a white tee-shirt, was gesturing wildly as he spoke. The second boy, wearing narrow blue jeans, fake leather jacket, and scuffed hi-top sneakers, listened attentively as his friend reached the punch line. They both laughed, the first boy giving his friend a playful shove. The second boy continued on his way, missing the fact that his companion had come to a dead stop on the sidewalk.

Old flannel stood frozen, mouth agape in complete shock. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was hallucinating. The amazing vision did not disappear. "Hey, hold up!" he yelled, yanking on scuffed hi-tops' faux leather jacket.

The other boy turned around as he questioned his friend. "What's up?_Whoa_."

"Mike, dude, check it out!" Old flannel exclaimed.

"I am, Juan, I am checking it! Can you believe it?" Mike replied.

Juan and Mike made a cautious approach. Juan reached out and touched the hood reverently. He slowly caressed the metal, warm in the sun.

"This is unreal! And just sitting here, parked in front of this old warehouse. I've never seen anything like it!" His hand continued to smooth across the length of the hood, all the way down to the headlight. Juan rested his palm there as he knelt down beside the front tire and studied it. "Would you look at that? These ain't no cheap plastic hubcaps. These are real metal rims, painted red, even!" He banged his knuckles against the rim, and startled Wheeljack back to reality.

'_What?'_ Wheeljack thought. '_Uh oh. A couple of humans. Hopefully they'll get bored and leave soon.' _

"I know, right? Check those tires out too. Those are some huge, serious tires. This baby's built for _speed_," Mike said. "This thing looks turbo charged. I bet it goes like zero to sixty in six seconds flat." He leaned over the back end of Wheeljack's alt mode and fondled the spoiler. "_Niiice_," Mike purred.

Wheeljack felt a rush of heat flood his transistors. '_Actually, 3.1 seconds,'_ the engineer thought with a small measure of embarrassed pride. Wheeljack resisted the urge to twitch and shudder. It felt really odd, having a couple of humans poke and prod him everywhere. Even more difficult was the fact that Wheeljack could not react at all, lest he give himself away. _'Please, just move along. I'm nothing special. Go on, now,' _he thought anxiously.

Juan stood up and ran his hands all the way across the wide expanse of Wheeljack's front end. Two large Vs of green with triangles of red in the middle decorated the hood. Underneath the bright paint, vents covered most of the metal surface. Juan's eager fingers found the vents and slipped inside the seams, exploring as far as he could. They were designed to let out some of the heat from the powerful engine. Even now his fingers encountered pleasant warmth, and he frowned, wondering if the car had been driven recently.

He then felt uneasy, and came to a quick decision. With a last look of extreme longing, Juan backed away from Wheeljack. "Hey, man, maybe we should just leave it alone. It looks really expensive. I bet whoever owns it is gonna be pretty mad if he catches us messin' with his wheels," Juan suggested.

Mike sounded outraged at the comment. "Say what? You've gotta be kidding me. A super fine machine like this, just left parked on the street in this neighborhood? Or anywhere out in the city, for that matter. The dude that owns this is just asking for trouble. Anyone who can't take proper care of a primo ride doesn't deserve it," Mike declared.

Wheeljack felt awkward, listening to their conversation. _'I _do_ take care of myself—uh, usually. Well, unless the damage is too extensive for me to fix on my own, or in a bad place. Then Ratchet takes care of me,' _he thought.

"I don't know," Juan said doubtfully. He stared at the car, gleaming in the sunlight. "It looks well taken care of to me."

But Mike wasn't listening. "Now, how do we get into this baby?" Mike said, pressing against Wheeljack's passenger side door, cupping his hands around his face to peer inside the window. He let out a low whistle. "Would you look at that? This thing is major tricked _out_! I've never seen mods like this before. This dude must be serious about his sports car's performance. It's even got harnesses instead of regular seat belts."

"Uh, I don't think this is a sports car, Mike. It looks like a race car to me. Those are the type of seat belts race cars have," Juan observed, still nervous.

Mike laughed. "Dude, are you serious? A race car? Who's gonna park a _race_ car here? If it is, it ought to be out on a track somewhere."

'_Yeah,'_ Wheeljack thought wistfully, _'it's been some time since I've been able to really cut loose on a track and perform some of my stunts. I miss it.'_

"Well, who is gonna park a fancy _sports _car here either?" Juan challenged.

"Some rich guy with more money than brains, I guess," Mike shot back. "Guy like that, he deserves to have his wheels taken for a ride."

"Now, come on, dude. That's not cool. I don't want a record for stealing a race car," Juan tried to reason with his friend.

"You still on that race car kick? I'm telling you, it's not a race car. Besides, we're not gonna steal it. We're just gonna borrow it for a bit. We'll be doing the dude a favor, really. If we just leave it here, someone else less honest than us will either lift it, rip off the engine or steal the rims off of it, or something. Any part of this baby would fetch a hefty price in a chop shop," Mike informed him.

'_Great,'_ thought Wheeljack, chagrined, _'now I'm bein' negotiated for parts.' _

"Borrow it? How 'bout we explain that to the cops when they catch us with it? And it is _so_ a race car! Sure, I can see someone put the racing stripes on their sports car, or soup up their engine. But it's got a racing number on both doors. Plus, it has some banners and what looks like sponsor decals all over it. 'Pirelli. World Rally Champion.' And it says 'Alitalia' over and over again too, whatever that means. You think it's the make of the car? I've never heard of it before," Juan asked.

Mike looked thoughtful as he circled the car. "Hmm, I dunno. It says 'Lancia' on the front of the hood, but that doesn't ring any bells either. Kinda sounds Italian, though," Mike said. He stared intently at Wheeljack, as if trying to figure something out. "What do you say, little turbo charged beauty? Are you a racer? Does your owner not love you, and that's why he left you out here all alone?" He chuckled. "Listen to me, talking to it, as if it could answer back!"

"Yeah," Juan said, as he fidgeted from foot to foot, "crazy."

'_Not as crazy as you might think,' _Wheeljack thought, amused. _'But here I am, not supposed to say a word, and almost get stolen.'_Wheeljack mentally laughed at his own predicament_. 'G__eez, how embarrassing. Bet the guys back at base would get a real kick out of it.'_

"Whatever. I still say we should try to get in, even if it's just to sit behind the wheel once. You gonna give up an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity like this?" Mike questioned his friend. He shoved his fingers between the crescent-shaped windshield and the door, looking for an opening. "Man, it'd be great if I had a slim jim."

Wheeljack barely managed to stop himself from jerking away from the intrusion._ 'You really don't wanna do that,'_ he thought, somehow hoping the boy would pick up on it. _'Wish they'd look away for a moment so I could activate my hologram.' _

"Mike—" Juan began, before being interrupted.

"Hello, boys," a young woman said, walking up to the pair while pushing a stroller with a sleeping toddler inside. Beside her trailed two small girls, aged about seven. The bolder of the two shrieked in excitement and ran up to the car, shoving Mike away to look inside.

"Oh, _wow_!" she exclaimed. "Mom, it's a real live race car! Just like what Dad watches on TV! Katie, quick, come and see! This thing is so cool!" she squealed to her friend. Katie joined her and they both stood on tip-toe, happily pressed against Wheeljack.

Katie rubbed Wheeljack's windshield. "This is neat! It's not like regular windows, it's round," she said.

"That's 'cause it's aero-dramatic," her friend knowingly explained. "It makes it good for going super fast."

"Aerodynamic," her mother automatically corrected. "Emily, please get away from that car. I'm sure the owner doesn't want you climbing all over it. Besides, Katie's mother will be wondering what's taking us so long to walk her home."

"Aw, Mom, I'm sure she won't mind when we tell her it's because of this awesome race car! Is it yours, you guys?" Emily asked the two teenage boys.

"Yes," Mike answered.

"No," Juan contradicted.

"Oh, _please_," Emily's mother responded, "of course not. Do you two know who owns it?"

"Maybe when the owner gets back, we'll be allowed to go for a race," Emily suggested, leaning back while hanging on to one of Wheeljack's rear-view mirrors. "Vroooom!" she said gleefully.

"Ooh, let me try," Katie begged, bouncing up and down on Wheeljack's door sill.

'_How do they do that without getting dizzy? Kids have more energy than the Dinobots,' _Wheeljack wondered.

"We don't know who it belongs to, Mrs. Torres," Juan told Emily's mother.

"All the more reason to keep away from it. Come on, girls, let's go," ordered Mrs. Torres.

"But mom! You've gotta have a camera, all the kids at school are going to want proof when I tell them about the _real_ race car I got to ride in. Oh, and Katie, too," Emily added, smiling at her friend.

"It's gonna be so totally awesome!" Katie gushed, beaming. She continued to jump on Wheeljack's door sill, causing him to rock slightly. "Emily, try it! It's fun!" The two of them were slightly disappointed when the car wouldn't shake any harder.

'_Well, it could be worse,' _thought Wheeljack, ever optimistic.

"That car's got some rad shocks," Mike said. Juan nodded in agreement.

"Girls!" shrieked Mrs. Torres. "Now, I'm not playing games. Stop it right now!" Emily's little brother woke and began to fuss in the stroller at all the noise.

"Hey, you guys," yelled an older woman from her window in one of the apartments across the street, "where's the fire, eh? That's an awful lot a' racket you making over there."

"Oh, hello Rosa. It's this race car parked over here. We don't know where it came from. Do you know anything about it?" asked Mrs. Torres. She rolled the stroller until her young son quieted.

"Race car? Are you crazy? There's no race…what the—George! George, get outside and take a look at this!" Rosa yelled to her husband inside the apartment. They both joined the others in front of Wheeljack.

George looked bewildered, scratching his head. "Well, that's a he—heck of a thing," George corrected himself, mindful of the younger children present.

"It's absolutely nuts, is what it is," Rosa stated, hands on her hips. "This neighborhood ain't no raceway."

'_Guess I _am_ attractin' a bit of attention,' _Wheeljack thought. _'It's not too bad, though,' _he tried to reassure himself.

Emily offered her own opinion with childish confidence. "It doesn't look like a stock car or a formula 1 car. It must be something new and really technologically advanced," she said slowly, carefully pronouncing the long word as best she could.

"Did you hear that, George? Luisa, where did your daughter pick up that stuff from?" Rosa questioned, surprised.

"She gets it from her father. He's a total racing fanatic," answered Emily's mother.

"Guess that's better than what this lump watches on TV. Football all the time," Rosa said, pointing to her husband.

"Hey, if a man can't even catch the Super Bowl in his own home…" George spoke up.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before," Rosa dismissed him.

Emily ignored the adults as she spotted several more teenagers emerge from the apartment complex. "Heeeey Tiffany, Lisa, what's up?" she yelled, waving.

"Hey back at you, little Emily," the glitter bracelet wearing Tiffany responded. "We're going to the park. You guys wanna come?"

"What are you gawking at over there anyway, short stuff?" Lisa of the sprayed stiff hair asked Emily.

Tiffany was looking back where they came from, shouting at a couple of teenage boys lagging behind. "Jay, Dave, get the lead out already!"

"Come and see!" Katie said, excited.

But Lisa didn't need prompting. "Oh my gawd, Tiff! You have to see this!" She poked Tiffany to get her attention.

Tiffany and Lisa looked at Wheeljack, and then at each other. They spoke simultaneously. "Radical." They ran over to the disguised engineer.

"How many banks did you have to knock over to buy this thing, dorks?" Lisa asked Mike and Juan.

"Ha ha, you're so funny. Not enough to fix your face. Dweeb," Mike snapped.

"This thing is totally _sweet_! Jay, get your camera out. I want a picture of me with the race car," Tiffany said as Jay and Dave arrived.

Dave and Jay looked over Wheeljack appreciatively. "Sure, no problem," Jay responded.

"Me first! It was my idea to have pictures with the car to begin with!" Emily insisted.

'_Pictures?'_ thought Wheeljack, surprised. _'This is not good.'_

"I'd like one too," Juan spoke up. Several others quickly asked for photos with Wheeljack.

"Hold up, I don't have that much film left in the camera!" Jay said.

Emily grabbed Katie and posed in front of Wheeljack. She wanted to be sure that she got her picture taken, even if no one else was able to. "Make sure you get the entire car in the picture," she instructed.

"It's all right, I've got a camera with plenty of film," George said. He ran off to get it.

'_More pictures?' _Wheeljack thought, slightly panicked now. _'But then maybe they'll leave as soon as they're done.'_

The camera clicked several times. George arrived and there was shoving as people fought to have their picture taken with Wheeljack. "As soon as Dad gets home I'm bringing him right over. He's gonna freak out!" Emily said happily.

'_Uh oh,' _Wheeljack thought. He contacted the Ark on his comm. channel, desperate for advice on how to salvage the situation.

"Ironhide here," said a reassuringly familiar voice.

"Ironhide? Terrific. It's Wheeljack. Listen, I've kinda run into a little problem here and I was wondering…" the engineer conversed in a rush, his relief palpable over the open channel.

"What's wrong? You got a couple a' Decepticreeps on yer can? I'll send someone out right away. Lemme get a lock on yer position…"

But Wheeljack was distracted by the humans around him and was only partially listening to Ironhide. "What was that? Where am I? I'm at that warehouse on the covert surveillance mission…ugh. Do they all have to get on me at the same time? Hee, that tickles! I wish they'd just…ahhh! Watch where you're putting that!" While his voice traveled clearly over the comm. channel, none of the conversation reached the humans. Wheeljack was still attempting to be discreet, successfully or not.

"Wheeljack, talk to me! Yer not makin' any sense," Ironhide yelled, both frustrated and concerned.

"Yeah, 'Jack, what's up? How can we help ya?" Jazz interjected smoothly.

"Oh, hi Jazz," Wheeljack replied, still distracted. "They're not exactly 'up', more like all over. Hey, not the roof! Hee hee hee…no, please, not that! And they won't…s-stop. They just keep coming!"

"Who? The Insecticons? How many of them are there?" Ironhide's voiced crackled over the comm., preparing for a fight.

"How many are there? I haven't actually counted, but it's a lot," Wheeljack informed them. A second went by while Wheeljack's processor relayed the part of the conversation he hadn't been focused on. "What? Wait, Insecticons—no. The humans…"

Jazz had already started to work on the problem before Wheeljack could finish clarifying the situation. "Let's just put this on screen and get the low down from ol' Teletran 1 and Sky Spy," Jazz said, and suited action to words.

"On screen? No, really guys, that won't be necessary," Wheeljack pleaded, flustered. "It's just that there are these humans, they seem really interested in me for some reason, and they have…cameras," Wheeljack trailed off, as he realized there was complete silence on the other end of the channel.

Loud whoops of laughter finally broke through the dead air. "Well, 'Jack, your mission doesn't actually seem 'covert' anymore, does it?" Jazz chuckled.

"Looks like you've got quite the fan club," Ironhide added, laughing. "Maybe you should charge 'em for the photos." Another bout of hilarity ensued.

"Hey, that's a good idea! Bet Optimus would like ta hear about it," Jazz suggested. "Great fundraiser for th' cause, and all that."

"Ah, heh heh, yeah. Great," Wheeljack laughed faintly, abashed. "It's just kinda difficult, keeping a low profile and defending the warehouse with all these humans around. And they don't seem to want to leave, either."

"Wonder if it's got something ta do with yer disguise? Though I've never had any problems with _my_ alt mode drawin' a crowd," Ironhide drawled. He still sounded enormously amused.

"But I don't understand it! The Ark computer reformatted us precisely for the purpose of blending in on Earth. It doesn't make sense…wait. I bet I can design a rig to create a reflective coating for our exterior chassis that, without actually physically altering our design, will interfere with the visible light spectrum as it's bounced back to the humans' visual processors," Wheeljack said, excited. "And maybe I can even get it to work on our own visual acuity centers, too! I mean, at least enough to cause some confusion," he cheerfully continued.

"Do you understand a single word a' what he's saying?" Ironhide asked.

"Not a clue," Jazz answered. "But he sure does sound happy, don't he? If it means another invention is coming up that'll help us kick the afts of th' Decepticons, then I'm cool with it."

At this point, it must be noted that Wheeljack had nearly lost the entire thread of his conversation with Jazz and Ironhide, so focused was he on his new idea. He did make an honest effort to rejoin the discussion, however. The results were somewhat unpredictable, as Wheeljack could occasionally be. "It's simple really, guys. You just…_hey_! That's getting a bit personal fellas if you don't mind!" Wheeljack yelled, startled. "…Uh, I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

The burst of laughter on the open line was by now predictable. "Well, 'Jack, the jig is up. Better transform and come clean with the humans," Jazz said, when he recovered the use of his vocalizer.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Ironhide chortled as he signed off.

At his verbal outburst, the humans froze, and then most of them hastily moved away from him. _'Aww, clogged carburetors!' _Wheeljack thought. _'It looks like I've already frightened them.'_

One of the remaining boys standing next to Wheeljack hesitantly spoke up. "Dude, did that car just _talk_?" he inquired.

"Err, yeah, I did," Wheeljack answered. "I can explain, though. Just hang on a tick. Oh, and the rest of you might want to back up, too."

They could not leave fast enough. Juan tripped over his own feet trying to get across the street from the talking car. With the sound of transforming cogs and gears accompanying him, Wheeljack quickly rose up to tower above the humans. Most would have run if it had not been for the sense of safety in numbers. Still, they were hunched defensively, poised to flee if necessary.

In place of the white, red, and green race car stood a nearly twenty feet tall robot. Its dark gray helm was covered with spike-like ridges. Two strange protrusions stuck out on either side of the helm. Below were two eerily glowing 'eyes', reflecting a vivid blue light across a snug banded 'mask'. Sharp, deadly-looking wings jutted out behind the robot's back. The entire body appeared massive and heavily armored. Parts of the former car were still visible; the roof forming an oddly graceful curved chest decorated in bright racing stripes, headlights peeking out from giant feet.

The enormous robot carefully crouched down and held out a gray metal hand toward the crowd of people. A large missile pointed directly at them from the robot's shoulder as it faced them. Awe and anxiety moved through them like a wave.

"Ah, hi. I'm Wheeljack," said a tad nervous yet friendly voice. The robot's odd helm 'fins' flared bright blue as a seemingly male robotic voice spoke.

Jay gaped at him. "That is the coolest thing I have ever seen."

"Hi! I'm Emily," said one of the little girls, quickly losing her fear. She ran up to Wheeljack's out- stretched hand and placed her own hand inside. The mechanical hand dwarfed her flesh and bone one.

Her mother, finally roused from a terror-filled stupor, shrieked. "Emily, no!" She started to run toward her daughter, until Wheeljack shifted to face her. Luisa froze again in the middle of the street.

Wheeljack held out his other hand in a manner he hoped was reassuring. "It's okay. I won't hurt her, or any of you. Really," he said.

"But, you like, have a missile pointed at us," Tiffany enlightened him.

"Oh, this thing? Don't worry about it. It comes right off," Wheeljack tried to assure them. Emily watched as he disconnected his shoulder cannon and placed it into subspace.

"Dude! What happened to that thing? It just disappeared!" Mike exclaimed.

"Are you a magician?" Emily asked.

"No, I'm a Transformer. My shoulder cannon is used in battles against the Decepticons, not against humans. I just put it in my subspace pocket, that's all," Wheeljack explained.

"The Decepticons—you must be an Autobot! I remember now! I heard about you guys on TV!" said Juan.

"Where are you from, anyway?" Lisa asked.

"Duh, he's from New York, obviously. Can't you hear his accent?" Tiffany responded.

"Oh yeah, New York City, totally. I should've realized. I have cousins from there," Lisa agreed.

"New York! Oh, you loco, use your brain! He's an alien," Rosa countered. "You see giant robots walking around every day?"

Dave snorted. "Bet there's plenty of aliens in New York. That place is weird," he said.

"What are you saying about my cousins, creep?" Lisa yelled.

"I'm not from New York City, I'm from Cybertron. I've been to New York a couple a' times, though. Great place," Wheeljack said, trying to stop a fight.

"Then how come you've got a New York accent?" Lisa asked.

Wheeljack tilted his cranium slightly, his optics furrowed in thought. "Well, on Cybertron, we have our own language, but 'bots have different accents, dependin' on what part of the planet they're from. When we were reactivated on Earth, our computer gave us the ability to speak the local language, and this is just how my normal accent was interpreted in your language. At least, that's the best explanation I have. I've never thought about it much, to tell ya the truth."

"Why do you have wings?" asked Emily.

"'Cause I can fly. See, I have these solid fuel rockets in my arms, and the wings help me out. I can't go as high as an actual plane, of course, but it works," Wheeljack explained.

"Wow, that's so cool! I want to fly with you! I've never flown before. Can I? _Please_?" Emily begged, hugging Wheeljack's leg awkwardly.

Wheeljack could easily see Emily's mother shaking her head 'no' wildly over Emily's head. "Uh, maybe some other time, okay?" he suggested.

Mike and Juan saw their chance, and hurried over to the engineer. "Hey, maybe you can't fly right now, but you can drive, right?" they asked. "What kind of car do you turn into, anyway?"

"A Lancia Stratos Turbo," he replied.

"So, that's English for 'super fast race car'?" Juan eagerly inquired.

Wheeljack chuckled. "Close enough," his vocal indicators flashed merrily.

"Will you give us a ride?" Mike asked.

"Sure. Hop in, buckle up, and hang on tight. I'm gonna show you some driving that's like nothing else on Earth," Wheeljack told them, transforming smoothly.

"_Yes_!" the teens happily shouted, pumping their fists. His alt mode may not have been the most inconspicuous design, but with Wheeljack in control, it handled like a charm.

-END-

* * *

I apologize for the slang used, but in my defense, it is 1984. I'm not good at writing accents, so I hope I managed to get the various characters' speech patterns across correctly, without it being too painful to read. Also, sorry about the 'aliens in New York' comment, that was a tiny reference to _Men in Black_. I like that movie, so I couldn't help myself, heh. But, most importantly,** thank**** you**! You guys are awesome, really. I'm completely shocked that anyone read my first Wheeljack story at all, much less actually took the time to say that it was pretty good, and offer encouragement. That means so much to me! I was expecting, at best, one or two comments along the lines of, "you suck!"

Anyway, hopefully, with so many prompts, I'll have the opportunity to improve my writing, since I'm just starting out. Thank you for the prompts, too! I'm hoping to write more than 28 now; so **yes**, I really will take requests/ideas for prompts. And I definitely will write a kick-aft one. The idea for stunt-driving Wheeljack comes directly from his tech specs, by the way. Also, **P.S.**, I'm writing two more right now, including a holiday-themed one. I'm trying to finish it before New Year's Day. (crosses fingers) To anyone who celebrates something this season, I hope it's happy! And a great year 2008 to everyone!


	3. Protective Wheeljack

-Protective Wheeljack

* * *

All was quiet in Wheeljack's lab, for the moment. In the next instant the silence was broken as a green metal disk fell with a clatter to the floor, dislodging several bolts and screws along with it. "I am most sincerely repentant, Wheeljack. I do not wish you to incur any additional labor through any effort of mine. The accountability for this regrettable circumstance is contingent upon my own undexterous behavior," Perceptor stated in a rush of embarrassed apologies.

"No, no, it's all right, Perceptor. Don't worry about it. This place is gettin' a little crowded. I'm thinking of expanding further into the volcano. It all depends on how stable the mountain is, of course," Wheeljack reassured him.

"Your current allotted storage facilities are inadequate to the task?" Perceptor inquired.

"Well, I do a lot of inventing, as well as general repairs and discoveries. If something new can be made useful, or something old can be recycled, then I'll keep it around," explained Wheeljack. His vocal indicators flashed in amusement. "I guess I'm starting to turn into the proverbial pack rat, though."

"I regret that I am inconversant with that particular phraseology," Perceptor informed him.

"Oh, heh, it's just an Earth expression that I picked up from Sparkplug. He's not here today, but you'll get to meet him soon," said Wheeljack. He continued to return all the parts Perceptor accidentally knocked over to their proper place.

As Wheeljack's back was turned, Perceptor made a captivating discovery. Sitting upon a work bench was a large, unfamiliar gadget. It had numerous switches, exposed tubing, lights, and an impressive power pack. Perceptor was immediately intrigued and delighted. He could not resist the gadget's allure, or his own curiosity.

"Oh my, this is most fascinating! I desire to become fully cognizant of this device's capabilities," Perceptor said. As he spoke, he was busy poking at the device. He flipped what he assumed was the switch to activate the gadget as he questioned Wheeljack further. "Wheeljack, would you please care to elaborate—"

At that moment Wheeljack stood up and spotted what Perceptor had done. Despite the apparent mask which covered half of Wheeljack's face, the sudden alarm he felt was clear in the widening of his optics. "Perceptor, no!" A quick glance was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. "Get out! Run!"

"But whatever for? What is the matter, Wheeljack? I do not comprehend your meaning," Perceptor informed him, confused. He continued to stand there, staring at Wheeljack and the device.

Wheeljack realized that Perceptor was not going to move anytime soon. "Run, now!" he urged. Wheeljack then shoved the immobile Perceptor across the room, and threw his own body on top of the other scientist, to shield him.

**_Boom_**!

* * *

The dull hum of chatter in the main recreation room of the Ark halted suddenly with Perceptor's entrance. Then the conversations started again, after an awkward pause. Perceptor walked quickly to a far corner of the room, and leaned against the wall. He was obviously upset and distracted.

"Well look who's here," Brawn said, a touch of anger in his vocalization. "Decided to grace us with your presence after all. Not even here a whole solar week and you're already causing trouble. I would have thought you'd be hiding in your quarters after what you've done."

"Now don't be too hard on him, Brawn. He's new and it was an accident," Jazz tried to pacify the situation. "Let's just be cool about it." Jazz casually tipped his chair back, slowly sipping his energon.

"An accident—give me a break! I don't see how someone who is supposed to be so 'smart' can be so dumb! It's slagging common sense, is what it is. Or were they not passing that out at the factory when you were built, Perceptor?" Brawn sneered.

Perceptor had been staring at the floor, but he looked up at this comment. It was then that he noticed several pairs of optics aimed in his direction. Some seemed curious, some accusatory, and others were unreadable.

"I saw him as he was being brought to the med bay," Mirage said abruptly into the tense silence. Although Mirage's face plate was blank, Perceptor imagined that he detected a tone of reproach to the statement. "It looked very serious."

"_Wheeljack_," Perceptor barely managed to articulate quietly through an uncooperative vocalizer. His unhappiness felt like a separate entity, blocking normal functions.

"Yeah, I saw him too!" Bluestreak exclaimed. "It was awful! He looked worse than I've ever seen him before. His wings and back were mangled, and even the back of his helm! Everything was scorched or melted, mech fluid everywhere…he's going to be there a while, I bet. It must have been some blast, huh? You were really lucky, Perceptor."

"Yes," Perceptor said, still finding himself at a loss for words.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Hound contributed. "It was all Wheeljack. He's always throwing himself in front of someone to take the hit in their place. Especially when it involves one of his inventions. It's just the way he is. Remember that time with Cliffjumper and the Transmutator?"

"Yeah, I remember that," Brawn said gruffly. "His first words when Ratchet finally managed to fix him up were, 'how's Cliffjumper?'"

"I…see," Perceptor stammered, disconsolate.

"But don't stress your gears, Perceptor. Ol' 'Jack, he's one tough customer. He's built real sturdy like, and Ratchet will have him fixed up in a jiffy," Jazz offered bracingly.

"I—I endeavored to accompany Wheeljack into the medical bay. However, Ratchet thwarted the successful accomplishment of my objective," Perceptor apprised them.

"That's probably for the best, actually. Our CMO doesn't need a bunch of distressed 'bots under foot while he's working. But hey, it's okay, because…" Hound did not complete his thought, for the very subject of his discussion had just entered the recreation room. And Ratchet looked furious.

Everyone froze as Ratchet came in to the room. The medic wasted no time in spotting the focus of his ire. "You!" he shouted at Perceptor, before storming over to where the scientist still leaned against the wall. Ratchet leaned in close to Perceptor's face, ensuring the other Autobot's undivided attention.

"Is it your intention to converse with me?" Perceptor asked timorously.

"Oh, I have something to say to you, all right," Ratchet said, his vocalizer producing a sound very like a growl. "When someone tells you to _run_, you don't ask why. You just do it!" he yelled.

Perceptor just stared at Ratchet, incapable of formulating a response. Ratchet left as quickly as he had arrived. Someone chuckled nervously, and the silent tableau was broken.

"As I was saying," Hound continued, gamely ignoring the interruption, "when Ratchet gives us the green light, we'll all go and visit Wheeljack in the med bay. There's nothing like seeing for yourself that someone is all right, and I'm sure Wheeljack would like the company."

"He'll be just fine real soon, too. Right guys? Right?" Bluestreak questioned, seeking reassurance as much as he was offering it.

"Sure thing, Bluestreak. If Ratchet's already left the med bay, then Wheeljack's definitely on th' mend," Jazz told him.

"But…it would seem indisputable that Ratchet would ascertain my presence to be objectionable in the _extreme_," Perceptor protested. "As for Wheeljack, why would he consider my visitation desirous after a concatenation of events brought about through my own inaction which caused him such grave injury?"

The others took a moment to attempt to digest all this. "Uh, if ya mean that Wheeljack won't want ta see ya, you're way off base. I've never yet known 'Jack ta hold a grudge. He knows it was an accident, plain an' simple. As for th' doc, he's all bark and no bite. Even then, he's mostly an upbeat mech. He's just real worried about 'Jack is all," said Jazz.

"But Ratchet does have a point," someone called out from one of the other tables.

"Be that as it may, I'm sure you'll find Ratchet back to his normal self soon. He just needs some time to cool off and see to Wheeljack's repairs. Ordinarily he's quite fun to have around—especially if he's over charged," laughed Hound. "He only gets like this when someone is hurt badly, when he desperately needs to recharge, oh, the usual things to set a 'bot off."

Perceptor ruminated on this for a bit. "I believe I may have learned a valuable lesson," he finally said.

"We can only hope so," the other Autobots replied.

-END-

* * *

I meant to reference the episode with Wheeljack's Immobilizer and Wheeljack's act of saving Spike in this story. However, I think (but I'm not sure) that that particular episode occurred a while after Perceptor showed up in the show. Therefore, Cliffjumper gets to take Spike's place. Also, unless I mention otherwise, each story exists separately from the others. I think when I write "kick-aft", and "on his knees", those two stories will follow each other chronologically, but most of the rest will not. (I have ideas for both of those stories, but they will probably be long and somewhat complicated, so I'm saving them for after I write a few easier prompts. I'll get to them, I swear!) Writing Perceptor's dialogue was fun, and I really should write the two stories I mentioned in my other note, rather than getting distracted with trying to write something easier like this. 


	4. Creative Wheeljack

-Creative Wheeljack

* * *

"It is magnificent," Hoist declared. His vocalizer positively resonated with awe.

"I quite agree," Grapple said, nodding to drive home his point. "A true master work. I've never seen anything like it." He gestured with his energon cube, as if toasting his subject, before taking a sip.

Mirage had just entered the Autobots', ah, 'canteen', if you will, although it was known by many names, 'recreation room' being the most popular. Before the Ark crash-landed into Mt. St. Hilary, many of the rooms had served different functions. Then gradually, as they acclimatized to Earth, the Ark went from 'ship' to 'base camp', and the Ark's interior had to adjust accordingly. Yet Mirage was one robot who felt he would never accept the Ark as his home, however temporary it may be. His usual habit was to unobtrusively grab his ration of energon, take it to a remote table, and then sip it in solitude. The others, for the most part, made no effort to include him, and in return, he made no effort to join them.

This was before Mirage passed by Hoist and Grapple's table. Being aloof did not mean becoming unobservant. In spite of himself, their conversation caught his interest. Besides, in Mirage's opinion, Hoist and Grapple were among the few civilized Autobots around. It would not hurt to pause a moment and gather some information.

"One of your projects, I presume," Mirage interjected smoothly. The key to obtaining knowledge was to insert oneself seamlessly, as if one had always been there.

"Well, yes and no. We merely provided the exoskeleton," Hoist explained, somewhat cryptically.

"And while we attempted to pay fitting tribute to wonders inside, we could not hope to rival them," Grapple added.

"Though we did quite fine work, considering our time and material constraints," Hoist remarked.

"Yes indeed, as always," Grapple agreed with a smile.

Mirage kept his confusion carefully hidden under an expressionless exterior. One did not become a successful spy by revealing too much. "Surely you gentle mechs are being modest," he chided.

"Not at all. We purposefully held ourselves back in planning and executing our design. It would not do for the inner brilliance to be outshined by the mere outer casing which was but a simple necessity," declared Grapple, solemnly placing a palm over his front grill.

What was this? The great architect Grapple, regarded as a genius in his field, opting for a basic design in order to allow another's creation to shine brighter? Mirage's curiosity was definitely piqued. "I believe a little clarification is in order. Are you saying that the pair of you constructed a plain building to house some glorious interior decorating? I had no idea there was an Autobot among us that specialized in such things."

The two stared at him with something akin to incredulous horror. "Oh, my word!" Hoist exclaimed. "Can it be? He truly has no idea. To reduce such an amazing achievement to…to mere decorating! Absurd, really."

"But as you said yourself, my dear Hoist, he must surely be ignorant of its existence. What a terrible thing, for him especially of all mechs, not to know of this outstanding feat!" stated Grapple.

"The subject matter, the beauty which pierces the spark, it _would_ hold a very special significance for you, Mirage. Of that I am certain. You simply must see it," Hoist said with conviction.

"Yes, you need to see it. We won't take no for an answer!" Grapple insisted.

Mirage was now curious _and_ amused. As a big patron of the arts on Cybertron, he was well acquainted with how artists tended to take themselves very seriously, and how temperamental they could be. He was sure that Hoist and Grapple were blowing this entire thing out of proportion. Still, it was interesting that they should think that he in particular would be strongly moved by…whatever it was.

The other question was the identity of their mystery artist. Upon further consideration, Mirage realized that it had to be Sunstreaker. There was no one else currently located at the Ark who it could be. Although Mirage had never seen his work, the spy knew that Sunstreaker fancied himself an artist. Perhaps Grapple and Hoist had constructed a museum of sorts to display Sunstreaker's art.

With a sharp pang of nostalgia Mirage recalled the lovely museums of old on Cybertron. How he would often spend a spare orn wandering through the galleries. But of course, all that was before the war. Many of the museums were burned out husks now. His lip components thinned into a bitter line at the thought.

If Grapple and Hoist had found a way to bring some of Cybertron's culture to this organic world, then Mirage could certainly take a moment to visit it. The rest of his shift was free, at least. "Very well, let us go and see what Sunstreaker has wrought," Mirage said.

"Sunstreaker? Why have you mentioned him?" Hoist questioned, puzzled.

"It is his work we are going to see, is it not?" Mirage answered.

Hoist chuckled. "Not at all. It's Wheeljack's craftsmanship that we are taking you to see."

Mirage wondered if his audios were still functioning properly. "Wheeljack? Ah, it's a joke. Of course."

Grapple and Hoist glanced at one another. "We're perfectly serious, Mirage."

"But you can't be…Wheeljack? He's no artist," Mirage protested.

"Any act of creation can be said to contain a touch of artistry. Wheeljack is, above all, a creator," Hoist informed him.

"Yes, I understand what you are saying. Yet a quantum flux capacitor or a gigametamorphasing molecular shield inducer array, while incredibly useful, are hardly what I would consider a thing of beauty," Mirage said.

"The best examples of art demonstrate great skill and daring. They are enduring, evoke powerful emotions in the observer—need I go on? To combine something eternal with something useful, that is the finest expression of creativity I can think of. I would marvel at its form and function any time," Grapple explained. "Also, there is no other here that has achieved that ultimate act of creation, unaided by outside forces, as Wheeljack has—the giving of life to another Transformer."

"Ah yes, the Dinobots," Mirage conceded. They certainly evoked strong feelings in the observer, however negative those feelings tended to be. Unlike many other Autobots, Mirage understood that the Dinobots were a valuable part of the team, if a somewhat unpredictable one. They had undoubtedly saved the rest of the Autobots on numerous occasions. "Their Terran forms seem more clunky than graceful to my optics; however the flame-throwing certainly shows a certain flare for the dramatic. I'll give Wheeljack a few points for his somewhat unusual sense of style." Mirage flashed a brief smile.

Grapple smiled in return. "You are not taking this seriously," he gently admonished.

"In this case," Hoist added, "seeing really is believing."

"Perhaps I just don't understand Wheeljack. He seems a nice enough fellow. We certainly get along quite well. I've joined him in group card games often enough, which were fun. Jazz has organized several races for the race car formatted Autobots among us, and I've enjoyed a friendly rivalry with him on the track.

"But I don't see how he can keep working on something for orn after orn, even as it continually fails, until that final moment when it doesn't. And then to put his creation to work, after all the effort involved, only to have the Decepticons steal and/or destroy it. Actually, the past several times it has been our own side which has destroyed Wheeljack's inventions, just to keep them out of the enemies' hands. Frankly, sometimes I don't know why he doesn't just give up," Mirage stated.

Grapple made a small sound of distress, and Hoist put an arm around him comfortingly. "That has been a terrible burden for me to bear. I constantly have to watch as buildings of mine, that I put so much into, are destroyed. It's this miserable war!" Grapple exclaimed.

"Wheeljack has thought of that, remember? He took every precaution this time to ensure that our building and his creation inside of it are safe," Hoist reassured him.

"If only there was some way to guarantee it. Never mind, this won't get you any closer to witnessing it for yourself, Mirage. Come with us," Grapple offered.

* * *

They traveled quite some distance into the Oregon wilderness in order to see this so-called 'magnificent creation' of Wheeljack's. Mirage did not appreciate the rough terrain they were forced to travel on. His low-slung formula 1 racer alt mode was not built for it. Hoist as a tow truck and Grapple as a crane had far less problems, and they transformed excitedly as they reached their destination.

"Do you see this?" Grapple pointed at the structure in front of them. "We constructed this with a clever mixture of materials carefully chosen to blend in with the surroundings, while still retaining exceptional strength."

"Then Wheeljack provided an additional safeguard to keep this place from enemy detection by coating it in one of his own inventions. It is a kind of flexible polymer which absorbs any attempts at visual or audio scans. It's really quite an ingenious little compound—" Hoist was building up a rather enthusiastic head of steam.

Mirage decided to stop him before the pair started to compose an aria over every nut and bolt in the place. "Let's just go inside, shall we?" he quickly said.

* * *

In all of his existence, never had he been so happy to be proven wrong. Hoist and Grapple had not been exaggerating when they praised Wheeljack's work. In Mirage's opinion, they had not gone far enough. Words failed him. It truly was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and yet…so spark-shatteringly familiar.

The interior suggested a vastness not thought possible going by the exterior dimensions. The entire place was pitch black, while still filled with an amazing variety of vivid color. His surroundings were not static, either. The landscape before him was ever changing, consumed with dips, swirls, and bursts of light that shone brilliantly against the darkness.

Mirage stepped slowly into what he guessed was the center of the room. The feeling of enormous open space was increased as he moved forward. It was as if he inhabited but a small corner of the great universe, and the rest spread out before him, challenging him to explore. He could hardly imagine that all of this had been accomplished within the confines of the small structure.

Distant stars glowed fiercely against the inky backdrop of outer space. Nebula cast a panorama of intense color over his optics. To his surprise, an actual comet streaked by as he stared at the phenomena around him. But the most poignant sight to greet his optical sensors was the two gibbous moons reflecting their pale borrowed light across the cityscape of Iacon.

_Home_. He would never tire of the vision of his beloved Cybertron. Observing the incredible wonders around him, he felt it resonate deep within his spark. The instant recognition and sense of belonging… Goodness, he was becoming positively maudlin!

As Mirage turned in a circle in an attempt to take everything in, he realized something else. This wasn't merely visual stimuli; it was a complete sensory experience. He felt the cool metal of the city street vibrating beneath his foot plates. The faint metallic tang of the towers hit his olfactory sensors like a jolt to the laser core. He could hear the hum of traffic somewhere in the depths below, as he stood on the highest level of Iacon.

Mirage reached out to touch the native foliage growing along the side of the walkway. The light from the moons absolutely gleamed across their delicate metal surfaces. Burnished orange, cool gray, deep blue—all recalled fondly by his processor—here for him to experience once more. He even delighted in the sharp prick to his digits as his hands touched the plant's spines.

"This is…astounding," Mirage whispered, overcome.

"He understands now," someone said behind him—Hoist or Grapple, he no longer cared.

For he had spotted Wheeljack in that moment, standing farther off, seemingly floating unsupported in outer space. Wheeljack's back was to Mirage, his hands clasped behind him. The inventor's helm was tilted up toward the endless stars. But not a flicker of acknowledgement glowed from Wheeljack's vocal indicators; he was utterly silent.

Mirage approached him. "Wheeljack…how?"

The voice right beside him finally roused Wheeljack from his thoughts. "Oh, hey Mirage," Wheeljack greeted him. "Guess you guys decided to bring someone else along this time?" This last was addressed to the two mechs in the distance. But they did not respond, both lost in contemplation of their surroundings.

Wheeljack didn't seem to mind their silence. His helm fins projected a joyful blue light. "So, now you've seen my little side project. I've been working on it for a while now—whenever I could get a spare moment. How do you like it?" Wheeljack's vocalization held boyish enthusiasm and pride, but his question seemed genuine.

Mirage was surprised that Wheeljack would have to ask. "Like it, how could I not? I love it! It is home, it's the most extraordinary thing I have ever seen, it's... I can't do it justice, Wheeljack. However, it is just a little surreal to be standing over what appears to be open space. It even feels different from the path behind us."

Wheeljack looked down at their feet, looking as if they were hovering over the yawning depths of the universe. He made a soft sound of amusement, helm fins flickering dimly, before he fell silent again. Wheeljack seemed to be considering something.

"I suppose I could explain it all to ya, how it's done I mean. But in my experience, most mechs don't wanna hear me go on about the technical aspects of my work. And in this instance, I think it's a case of too much explanation ruinin' the effect, if ya get me," Wheeljack said.

"But then why did you do it? Would you at least tell me that?" Mirage asked.

"Why?" Wheeljack became pensive once more. "To see if I could, I guess. I love a challenge. But what it mostly was, well, I guess I was a little homesick, and I wanted to recreate something of my past. My creator lived in one of the towers, and we had an observatory at the top. We used ta go up an' sit there, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes we'd be there for a long time, not sayin' anything at all. That's where some of my first ideas for inventions were formed. I missed having a place like that ta think."

"It's no secret that I'm homesick, Wheeljack. I think this is a fantastic help. A bit of a real home on this lousy planet," Mirage commented.

"Heh. But I don't dislike Earth; I think it's just fine. My alt mode on Cybertron was great, but I can do some real fun stuff with my new Earth alt mode. And I've made some friends here, too. But I guess some of the rest of the guys would appreciate this place also, eh? I wasn't quite finished with it before, but I am now," Wheeljack informed him.

"I think 'appreciation' is a vast understatement," Mirage said with a huge smile.

-END-

* * *

**Note**: I wanted to show that Wheeljack is more than just 'kaboom'. I hope I was at least slightly successful. Not that I don't love a good explosion. I once spent an entire afternoon waiting for a dry ice-and-plastic-bottle bomb to go off (great fun). And I once helped construct a bomb out of an MRE heater (very effective). I'm sure the fictional Wheeljack enjoys a good explosion too. But that's not all there is to him. Hee. Oh, and 'flux capacitor'? I bet Wheeljack and Doc Brown would be great friends. 


	5. Time Traveling Wheeljack

-Time Traveling Wheeljack

**Note**: This is completely silly and random, thus I suppose I cannot count it toward my 35 Wheeljacks. So I offer it as some sort of 'bonus' that can be ignored if one wishes.

* * *

Some sort of instinct made Wheeljack turn around at precisely the right moment. Perhaps it was the same instinct that guided countless inventors everywhere to their greatest discoveries, and saved them from their more chaotic tendencies. Regardless, the engineer took his attention away from his latest project, an upgrade for Snarl's solar collectors, to see…sparkles.

Blue sparkles, to be exact. They formed two tall, shimmering cylinders in the air in front of Wheeljack. "Hmm, well, that's different. Interesting," Wheeljack observed.

The defused sparkling cylinders coalesced into two figures. They both appeared startled to see Wheeljack. "This is a somewhat unexpected outcome. Intriguing," the first figure stated. He pulled a small object from his side that Wheeljack guessed was a scanner and swept it in Wheeljack's direction, then around the rest of the lab.

"Yeah, it sure is. Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," laughed the second figure to himself. "I guess I must've miscalculated when I made that slingshot around the sun. Those strange energy readings when we hit maximum acceleration did seem suspicious. Do you think we've hit a parallel universe?" he asked his companion.

"According to my scans, it would seem so. Our mission will have to be aborted while we try for our original destination," the other replied.

Wheeljack was fascinated and entertained. It never occurred to him to be afraid or cautious in the slightest. "So, you're lookin' for your original destination, huh? Where are ya tryin' to get to?" Wheeljack asked, wanting to help.

The human holding the scanner blinked his gold eyes in apparent surprise at Wheeljack speaking. "We are trying to get to Earth of the past," he answered.

"Well, I can tell ya that you've got at least part of it right. This is Earth. But I couldn't tell ya if it's the past, since I don't know when you're from," Wheeljack told him.

"We're from the 24th century," the second human responded.

"You've got that right too then, if I understand my knowledge of human time keeping correctly," Wheeljack cheerfully informed them. "This is the year 1984."

"Excuse my inquiring but, what species are you?" the first human questioned Wheeljack.

"I'm Cybertronian," Wheeljack replied.

"Wow. Well, the reason we figure that we're in a parallel universe, apart from the scanner's readings, is that in all our travels, we've never come across a being quite like you before. Either on Earth, or anywhere else for that matter," the second human explained.

"'All your travels?' So I guess you've been around Earth's solar system a bit, then," Wheeljack figured.

"And a great deal beyond," the first human said.

"Yeah. We've even gone outside of our own galaxy, but that was with the help of the Traveler," the second human added.

"Hey, that's great! I'm something of an interstellar traveler myself. Although these days, I spend most of my time on Earth. I'm the mechanical engineer around here. My name's Wheeljack," he introduced himself.

"An engineer? That's fantastic! I'm Geordi, chief engineer of the starship _Enterprise_," the second human happily provided his own introduction.

"I am Data, chief science officer and operations manager on the USS _Enterprise_."

"You guys have your own space ship? Humans sure have come a long way in the future," Wheeljack remarked. "It's nice to meet ya. Especially a fellow engineer and science officer."

"A human and an android," Geordi said with a laugh, pointing to his friend Data. "Gee, Data, that's the first time someone has mistaken you for a human without a disguise on! And we were all ready with our Halloween excuse, too," he chuckled.

"He's a cybernetic being like me? But he looks so human!" Wheeljack exclaimed.

"My creator was a human, and he built me in his own image," explained Data.

"The humans of this time period don't seem capable of anything like you," said Wheeljack.

"That's pretty much how it is in our universe too," said Geordi. "But now we have to figure out where we went wrong, and try to get back again."

"If there's anything I can do to assist you, I'd be more than happy to," Wheeljack offered earnestly.

"That'd be terrific! We could sure use some help from someone like you. I'd love to hear about your race, your travels and technology," said Geordi, pleased with the thought of getting to know Wheeljack better.

"Well, I'd love to hear about you guys, your ship, and technology too," laughed Wheeljack. "So I guess we're even. I'll tell ya anything you'd like to know."

"Really? Tell you what, to thank you for your help, when we figure out how to get back, we'll take you with us so you can see the ship in person. We'll even bring you back to the same time, so it'll be like you've never left," Geordi proposed.

"Geordi, I do not think that would be advisable," cautioned Data.

"Come on, Data, why not? The Prime Directive only warns us not to interfere with species which aren't as developed as ours. Wheeljack is certainly not in that category," Geordi reasoned.

Wheeljack held his hands up innocently. "I won't cause any problems, honest," he said, trying to be as convincing as he could. Time travel to another universe sounded like so much _fun_.

-END-

* * *

Julielulie – Prowl or Optimus talking like a gangsta? I think you just broke my brain! Tee hee!

Fire From Above – A road trip chapter? Funny you should mention that. When I was throwing around ideas for "Bath Time Wheeljack", I somehow came up with the idea to turn it into a huge road trip involving Beachcomber, among others. My mind can be a strange place. And thanks for saying that I got everyone's personalities down well! To me that's the most important part.

Flamingmarsh – Thanks for your reviews! In my "Drunk Wheeljack" story, I have someone lusting after Wheeljack, or perhaps it can be said to be a mutual lusting, so he does get some love there. I'm not sure that's what you meant in your request though.

Bluebird Soaring – I like your ideas on using emotional keywords as prompts! Thanks for saying I do a great Wheeljack! It's really important to me that I get him right. And yes, I think Perceptor has learned his lesson about not touching anything in Wheeljack's lab, at least not without asking first. (Wink)

Crimson Starlight – Thanks for your comment about my use of Perceptor's vocabulary! I used to have an obnoxious vocabulary as a little kid. I'm glad it's being put to good use.

OptimusxElita4ever – Thanks for the review! I hope this update is soon enough for you. I wanted to finish these three stories I just posted by the first of January, but it didn't work out that way.

Water-smurf – Thanks for the review! Yes, all ends well in "Protective Wheeljack". Don't worry, I understand about being a fanatic about a character. After all, Wheeljack is my absolute favorite. I don't know what my muses have in store for Perceptor for all the various prompts, but he does have a small part in "Drunk Wheeljack". All ends well for him there too later, never fear.

Byrnstar – Thank you so much for your reviews! I am so happy that you find Wheeljack to be well-written in "Book Reading Wheeljack"! Yes, I'm sure Wheeljack, as someone else noted too, would get all sorts of crazy ideas from reading human science fiction. Sparkplug has created a monster! Hee! And yes! I have seen the Fenomenon Stratos! Drool. You are so right that it would be perfect for new movie 'Jack. I even saw it somewhere as an altered picture with Wheeljack's racing stripes put on it. But I've lost the link, and I wish I could find it again.


	6. Drunk Wheeljack

-Drunk Wheeljack

**Note**: Writing this one makes me nervous. Each story I find myself writing yet more characters I've never written before. This time it's Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bumblebee, Tracks, and Air Raid. Plus, and here comes the warning, there is mild, implied romance ahead. After everyone gave me the 28 prompt list, I realized quite a few involved romance, and, err, physical affection. Darned if I know how giant alien robots accomplish that, but I do know that I'm a big robot chicken, so I'm going to have to ease in to it. But if anyone deserves to be loved, why not Wheeljack? He's certainly worthy, poor guy. So, though it's very little, there are romantic feelings exchanged on the part of two 'male' robots ahead, but it's only one part of the story. And, this would be the holiday themed one I mentioned before.

* * *

Everything was laid out neatly in a row: highly advanced technological device of indeterminate function, shiny wicked-looking tools, datapad with the all-important-yet-incomprehensible-to-anyone-but-Wheeljack type plan, and, unfortunately, that one pesky piece that was stubbornly left over after assembly. The engineer in question picked up the datapad and leaned it against his chin, lost in contemplation. He absently started to tap the errant piece on the worktop. 

"Well, I guess there's nothin' for it but ta take it all apart and start over again," he said to himself. A brief look at the datapad left him in fairly good spirits. "At least it should be easier the second time around." He scrolled through his plan, double-checking his schematics.

"Why don't you put the 'pad down and spend a little quality time with me," said a low voice directly into his audios. Wheeljack felt a torso press against his back; the pressure rubbed exquisitely along his sensitive wings. An arm wrapped firmly around him and held his hip plates tight. The other hand teased the nodes in his neck; the sensors arced instantly at the touch.

Wheeljack was immediately distracted from his work, and all intelligent thought fled his processor. "T-That feels good," was all he managed to say.

"Mmm hmm, it's supposed to," continued the madding voice so close to him. "You're gripping that 'pad awfully hard. You ought to let it go before you snap it in half."

"I can't." The words rasped out of his vocalizer.

"You can't, or you won't? Tell me you don't want this," demanded the voice. The hand at his hip shifted higher and began to gently play with the cabling at Wheeljack's waist. Agile digits knew exactly what they were doing. "Tell me, and I'll call you a liar."

Wheeljack involuntarily moved against the chassis behind him, the small sounds which escaped him lighting his vocal indicators an intense lilac in pleasure. "I _do_ want it—want you," he stammered. "Just that I have to finish this work first, and I c-can't…" he trailed off, unable to finish his thought.

"Oh yes, you do have a lot of work to do. With me," the voice insisted. The other hand moved from Wheeljack's neck to the minute channels in his left wing, delicately tracing an electrical current through them with the micro-laser in one fingertip.

The inventor desperately tried to hold on to some rational processes in his neural network, but the incredibly delightful stimuli was overriding all cognizant functioning. "That's distractin'. Not fair," he protested. Completely effective and completely wonderful, his traitorous, scattered thoughts told him.

"All's fair in love and war, as the humans say. Both apply to our situation, don't you agree? And you're still clutching that 'pad." The low voice became impatient.

"Cameras," Wheeljack said with difficulty. The fingers at his waist were insistent. "Ya know Red Alert had me build and install a new security system. I put two cameras right in here."

"And you know our solution to that small problem, 'Jack. 'You called me to tell me you lost the feed? Oh, oops, the cameras must have been damaged in one of my experiments. Don't worry, Red, I'll fix them up. It might take a while, though.' Works every time."

"Yeah, but Optimus and Prowl want the gyrosphere I developed workin' by the next orn. I've gotta get it done," explained Wheeljack. He shuddered under the continued attentions of his companion.

"What, and you can't take a break to spend some time with your partner? We've been working non-stop since the last Decepticon attack, tending wounded and restocking supplies. When they pulled you away from helping me out in the med bay, I thought you'd be done by the time I was. Instead, I come here, finally caught up, and you're _still_ busy!"

"I thought I was finished, but I ran into a bit of a problem. No big deal though, 'cause I should have it worked out in no time. Then there will be time for us, I swear. Nothing would make me happier," Wheeljack replied earnestly.

"Uh huh, sure 'Jack. When it comes down to it, nothing's that easy with you. After this, something else is bound to come up, and we haven't had any time to ourselves in nearly a quartex! Unless you count snatched moments of recharge in our quarters, which I don't. You didn't even manage that at the end of last shift," the voice complained.

"I was workin' through my down time so I could be finished now. I just gotta figure out what went wrong with this extra piece," said Wheeljack.

"I don't want to hear about an extra piece. I want to see you make those annoying cameras spontaneously combust, and then I want to hear you call out my name when I make _you_ spontaneously combust. Got it?"

By now the arms around Wheeljack had fallen into a loose embrace. Wheeljack took one of the hands resting below his windshield and caressed it. "Just give me a breem and I'll be done, I promise," Wheeljack stated.

"You'd better."

The reinforced door to the lab slid open nosily and Bumblebee walked in, holding a data stick. "Hey, Wheeljack, Optimus asked me to bring this to ya right away—oh. Hi, Ratchet. I didn't know I was gonna be interrupting something," Bumblebee giggled nervously.

"Don't worry," Ratchet said, bitterness evident in his tone, "you're not." He reluctantly stepped back from Wheeljack and folded his arms across his windshield.

Wheeljack's vocal indicators were rosy with embarrassment as he spoke. "What can I do for ya, Bumblebee?"

Bumblebee rubbed the back of his helm as he tried to bring his CPU back to the task at hand. "Oh, yeah, right. Uh, do you have a reader for this?" the minibot asked, holding up the data stick. "Because Optimus and Prowl were going over the battle strategy during our last skirmish again, and they said they wanted you to come up with some designs to fix that problem they talked to you about as soon as possible. And Optimus wanted to know if you've finished that gyro-doohickey yet."

"Oh joy," Ratchet said, irritated.

"Hey, don't blame me, I'm just the messenger," Bumblebee protested, holding up his hands in a placating manner.

"They really need me ta go over this right away?" Wheeljack asked, gesturing with the data stick.

"Optimus said it's real important," Bumblebee answered.

"It always is," Ratchet said with deep rancor.

"Okay, no problem. Now I just gotta see if I still have my data reader somewhere. There are only two places it could be, but I think I loaned it out ta someone," Wheeljack replied, looking in a drawer beside him.

"Oh, wait, I might've brought one with me, now that I think about it. Let me check," Bumblebee offered, patting himself down.

Ratchet just huffed through his vocalizer, watching the other two. "It figures. At this rate, we won't have any real time together until the next millennium," he predicted, cynical.

"But that's only sixteen years away, Ratchet!" Wheeljack teased, trying to lighten up the situation.

"Wheeljack! Oh, what a wondrous moment of serendipity! Due to a most fortuitous happenstance, a finding has been made which would lend credence to our earlier hypothesis on the mechanics of the space bridge! If you'll recall the theorem that you postulated regarding the time dilation effects on the transdimensional power field, this discovery would authenticate your—"

Ratchet spun around and went over to the side entrance of the lab that Perceptor had just burst out of, cutting off the flow of Perceptor's speech. "Now just an astrosecond, Perceptor. Is this a matter of life or death?" Ratchet demanded, blocking Perceptor's way into the lab.

The scientist considered this for a moment. "Well, according to my estimation, the probability of that occurrence…" he halted at the sight of Ratchet's glare. "Negative," Perceptor answered more succinctly.

"Then I'm sure Wheeljack would be happy to hear all about whatever it was you were babbling about later. He's busy right now," Ratchet said.

"But—" Perceptor objected.

"Good _bye_, Perceptor!" Ratchet exclaimed, moving forward aggressively, forcing Perceptor to back out of the lab.

Bumblebee shook his helm and laughed. "I like him just fine, but sometimes that guy gives me an audio-ache!"

"You see?" Ratchet declared. "It never ends! You know what your problem is, Wheeljack? You're too nice and you don't know how to say no to anyone. If I hadn't been here you'd let him sidetrack you and in the meantime Prime would keep coming up with _more_ projects to dump on you."

"Hey now, I can so say no. It just hasn't come up yet," Wheeljack demurred, chuckling.

Tracks entered the laboratory, carrying his rocket launcher backpack. "Since I have a spare moment Wheeljack, would you take a look at this? I know I am a trifle early for my appointment, but you did express interest in improving the firing assembly," Tracks said.

"Sure, I know just what I wanna do with it, too," Wheeljack agreed, an inspired gleam in his optics.

Ratchet shot Wheeljack a telling glance. _You've just proved my point, buddy, _it clearly said.

At the look, Wheeljack blurted out, "What? …Oh." He had the decency to be abashed at his eager offer.

"Tracks," Ratchet informed him, "your appointment has just been canceled. You'll have to reschedule some other time."

"I beg your pardon?" Tracks sniffed, affronted.

"Do you need me to simplify it for you? Get. Out. Now," Ratchet ordered, pointing at the door.

"Well, I never! How rude! Of all the uncouth mechanisms…" Tracks blustered, complaining as he stormed out. Unfortunately, he was not watching where he was going. He nearly ran down Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as they were coming in. Tracks and Sunstreaker shared a mutual look of contempt before Tracks marched off, wounded dignity intact.

Before anyone could react, Sunstreaker was standing in front of Wheeljack, the worktop between them. The Lamborghini-styled robot casually shoved Bumblebee aside to make room for himself. "Jet pack," Sunstreaker demanded simply, as if that explained everything.

It was enough for Wheeljack, however. "Yeah, about that. See, back when you first told me to make you one, I came up with this terrific prototype. It had an increased flight range and greater fuel efficiency than what Sideswipe's using now. But before I finished it, I showed it ta Optimus. He liked the idea so much, he said he wanted me to make one for everyone. I didn't have time for that just then, so I set it aside for later."

Sunstreaker was outraged. "Look you little glitch," he said, poking Wheeljack in the chest plate, "I don't care how many other things you've got going. The other robo-rejects can wait. I asked for a jet pack first, therefore _I_ should be the first robot to get one."

Wheeljack's optics widened in surprise at the outburst, but Ratchet was quicker to react. The Autobot medic placed his fists on his hip plates, clearly angry. "Touch him again and I'll make sure you regret it," Ratchet promised Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe instantly intervened. "Oh, how funny bro, you're such a kidder! Isn't he great guys? Hilarious!" Sideswipe proclaimed in a hearty voice.

"I wasn't kidding," Sunstreaker stated, obviously annoyed.

"Of course you were. Anyway, we'll see you later, okay Wheeljack?" Sideswipe said cheerfully.

"Uh, all right." Wheeljack was plainly bewildered, but willing to go along with it.

"Do you need me to show you out?" Ratchet snapped.

"No, thanks though," Sideswipe said, with continued jauntiness. He took Sunstreaker by the shoulders and gently steered his twin toward the exit.

"Wait one nano-klick! What about my jet pack?" Sunstreaker insisted.

"Don't worry about it bro, I've got it covered," Sideswipe answered meaningfully as they left.

Ratchet and Wheeljack shared a look. Wheeljack was clearly apologetic, and Ratchet dismayed. "I'm sorry, Ratch'. I'll try to finish up as fast as I can. You might even see me in our berth later when I need ta hit recharge," Wheeljack offered, realizing it was faint consolation.

"Maybe, if I don't find you passed out in here later instead," Ratchet responded dubiously. He reached out to grip Wheeljack's hand briefly, and then followed the twins out.

Bumblebee cast a sympathetic glance in Ratchet's direction before continuing the hunt for a data reader. "Rough day, huh?" he commiserated with Wheeljack.

"Yeah," Wheeljack replied, the closest to feeling down Bumblebee had heard him so far.

* * *

As Ratchet left the lab, Sideswipe stopped in the corridor, pulling Sunstreaker up short. "What is it now?" Sunstreaker groused, exasperated. 

"Just wait," Sideswipe instructed, "and watch."

"This better be worth my time," complained Sunstreaker.

Ratchet was preoccupied, and so at first he missed Bluestreak and Jazz coming up to the laboratory. In an attempt to prevent a collision, he swerved out of the way, waving his arms to restore a temporary loss of equilibrium. While doing so, he caught his appendages on a large strand of multi-colored lights strung below the ceiling. "What the slag is this?" he demanded, trying to pull the lights off his arms.

Jazz smirked at the sight. "Here, let me help ya, doc. Can't let a little bunch a' decorations tie ya up," he said, carefully unwinding the green wires.

"But what in the pit are they for?" Ratchet asked. "Besides being a complete hazard, that is."

"Well, some of us folks that dig a bit of Earth culture got ta talkin' with Spike and Sparkplug. They told us about their little Christmas holiday, and it sounded like a whole heap o' fun. Prime gave it the go ahead, so we've decked the place out real nice. Makes the humans feel more at home, too," Jazz explained.

"Hound put these up himself," Bluestreak informed Ratchet.

"Crazy," Ratchet muttered to himself, finally free of the tangled lights.

"Say, is Wheeljack in there?" Bluestreak asked the medic, gesturing at the door to the lab. "We need to see him. He's going to fix my missile launchers, and increase the volume and intensity on Jazz's sound-and-light tactic."

"Take a number," Ratchet snarled as he moved away down the hall.

"Now, now," Jazz jokingly admonished, "no need to turn in to Scrooge, m' man."

"Jazz, what's a Scrooge?" questioned Bluestreak.

Jazz just laughed, indicating Ratchet with a tilt of his helm. "That is one frustrated 'bot," he diagnosed.

"And what was the point of that?" inquired Sunstreaker as they also left the area.

"That was gathering more information for my plan," Sideswipe answered. "You'll like the result, trust me."

* * *

"I still don't think this is going to work," Sunstreaker pointed out to his twin. 

"Just a touch of persuasion, bro. Energon goodies earns more favors than laser blasts," Sideswipe quipped, hitting the panel to open the lab door. "Ah, just like I thought. Still here," he said as he spotted Wheeljack at his workstation.

"Hm," Sunstreaker commented, unconvinced. He folded his arms across his gleaming yellow chest plate as he posed against an adjacent table.

Wheeljack looked up at their entrance. "Hi guys. I was just leaving. Can it wait 'til later?" the engineer asked them.

"Leaving so soon? But you can't, for we come with a small gesture of goodwill!" Sideswipe said dramatically.

"A goodwill gesture? Nah, you didn't have ta do that," Wheeljack assured them. "Honest, fellas, no hard feelings."

"You haven't seen what I've got yet," Sideswipe enticed him. "Come on, Wheeljack, we won't keep you long. You deserve it, after working so hard." Sideswipe sat down beside Wheeljack, producing a shimmering cube which he placed in front of him.

"What's that?" Wheeljack asked, curious.

"The finest high grade on the planet. You have to try some. If you don't, it'll hurt my feelings," Sideswipe insisted, an innocent smile on his face plate.

"Oh, brother," Sunstreaker said in disgust.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt ta have a bit," Wheeljack conceded. "Thanks Sideswipe." He took a generous drink. "Whoa, that's some powerful stuff," he stated as it hit his systems.

"You can handle it," challenged Sideswipe. "The good energy is worth the buzz. Have some more, Wheeljack, you've barely touched it."

"I don't know, I thought I took plenty," Wheeljack said. He had another drink anyway. By now the potent high grade was starting to send him into overdrive.

"Keep going. Really, if you don't finish at least half, I'll be insulted," Sideswipe told him.

"Oh, but he's worried he can't hold his energon," Sunstreaker scoffed. "He's probably a real light weight compared to us."

Wheeljack shook his helm in negation at Sunstreaker, not especially offended but still cheerfully prepared to defend himself. When he stopped, it seemed the room kept spinning. Or was _he_ spinning? "Like I've been hit with my own gyro inhibitor shells," he commented to no one in particular. He propped up a cranium that suddenly seemed excessively heavy in his hands, metal elbow joints resting on the table's surface. "That's better. I may not be unaffected, but I can hold my energon as well as…" Here Wheeljack paused, unsure of how to continue. "Well, uh, as well as anyone, I guess," he informed Sunstreaker.

"Really," Sunstreaker drawled. "Prove it."

Sideswipe had taken advantage of Wheeljack's attention shifting to his brother, and topped off the energon cube again. "Go for it," he encouraged, pushing the cube closer to Wheeljack.

"Okay," Wheeljack answered, giddy. He drank deeply. "Sure, why not?" Wheeljack drank again, completely forgetting that he just had some. Logic processors had now taken a definite back seat in the proceedings.

Waving a palm in front of Wheeljack's optics, Sideswipe caught the engineer's drifting attention. "How are you feeling, Wheeljack?" Sideswipe asked.

"Great!" Wheeljack exclaimed. He doubled over in laughter at this, as if he had said something very amusing.

"All right, that should be enough," Sideswipe decided, moving the cube away.

"Enough? Are you sure it isn't too much? What are you trying to do, completely wreck him?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Not entirely wrecked, only mostly, bro. He'll be more open to suggestion now. Don't you want your fancy jet pack?" Sideswipe reminded Sunstreaker.

"Ya ever wonder why humans use red lights for stop and green lights for go? What's yellow supposed ta mean, anyway? Go faster?" Wheeljack questioned, as he erupted into further hysterics.

"When he's finished building it, _you're_ testing it first," Sunstreaker said.

"Aw, I'm sure Wheeljack will do a fine job making your new jet pack. Won't you, Wheeljack?" Sideswipe prompted.

"Wow, hands really are the most amazing design," Wheeljack said, off on his own tangent. He gazed intently at his right hand, slowly flexing the individual digits open and closed.

"Gee, he kind of reminds me of Beachcomber when he's on something," Sideswipe commented, amused.

"Is Beachcomber ever _not_ on something?" Sunstreaker said, irritated.

"I just thought it was interesting that he becomes even more well, friendly and happy and stuff when he's tanked," Sideswipe elaborated.

"No, really?" Sunstreaker vocalized with heavy sarcasm. "I thought he'd turn into a homicidal maniac."

Wheeljack stood up and felt a sudden rush of power jolt his central processor and motor stability center. He abruptly sat down again, grabbing the table top for support. "Gotta do that slower," he said, giggling. Wheeljack looked around in confusion. "What am I still doin' here, I thought I was leavin'?"

"You were just about to finish work on that new jet pack prototype. Here, let me help you. Just tell me where it is and I'll get it for you," Sideswipe told him.

"I was?" Wheeljack questioned, still dazed. His vocal indicators shined more intensely with the high grade running through his system. "Well, uh, sure. If you say so. Thanks. It's, uh, I think I put it…over there. The large gray cabinet to the left, second shelf," Wheeljack directed Sideswipe. He rubbed his helm, optics slitted in concentration. "It's a good thing I don't have ta get up. Something's screwy with my balance an' coordination for some reason."

"I don't know, maybe it's all the ultra high grade that you're processing," Sunstreaker muttered flippantly.

Sideswipe snickered as he retrieved the jet pack. "Good thing he probably won't remember most of this, eh bro?" He set the jet pack in front of Wheeljack. "Now, are there any special tools you're going to need?" he asked Wheeljack.

"Tools, tools." Wheeljack thought about this for a moment. "Uh, what for?"

"This is just great," Sunstreaker grumbled. He glared at his twin.

"Patience, Sunstreaker," Sideswipe said, in an attempt to calm him. "For this, Wheeljack," he continued, pointing to the jet pack.

"Okay! This is gonna be fun," Wheeljack said with great enthusiasm, his vocal indicators lit up like a search beacon. He dug through a drawer in the worktop, tossing various implements beside him. "An' this!" he exclaimed happily, pulling out a particularly odd-looking tool.

Once Wheeljack got started, he seemed to gain more focus, digits rapidly moving over the components of the jet pack. A soldering iron here, a needle-nose clamp there, more tools than the twins could possibly indentify. Sunstreaker was becoming bored and restless, Sideswipe could tell. So Sideswipe decided to strike up a conversation with the engineer. He wasn't sure whether Wheeljack would utter over-charged nonsense or tech babble, but it might be entertaining all the same.

"So, Wheeljack, this jet pack going to clash with my brother's paint job?" he asked, barely able to keep the grin off his face plate at the jab to his twin's ego.

Wheeljack screwed a panel into place. "Err, why, does it matter? It _will_ be twenty-two point four percent more fuel efficient than anythin' else out there. See, the problem with your jet backpack is that it needs ta be refueled every two minutes. With this version…"

"All I want to hear," Sunstreaker cut in, "is that it will be superior to my brother's in every way."

"It's finished," Wheeljack announced.

"I bet you wanted to hear that, too," Sideswipe contributed with a small poke to his brother's chassis.

"Right, so who wants ta test it first?" Wheeljack asked, holding up the item in question.

"Just give it to me," Sunstreaker commanded. "We'll work out the details later."

"What he means to say is that he's an utter coward, servos quaking worse than a run-in with my pile drivers," Sideswipe jeered.

"Hey, I don't see you offering to test it, motor oil mouth," Sunstreaker pointed out.

"That's fine, I'll be glad ta test it for ya. I usually test everything on m'self the first time anyway," Wheeljack informed them.

"He means right now?" Sunstreaker addressed Sideswipe. "He can't be serious."

"This I gotta see," Sideswipe said. Humoring him, Sideswipe turned to Wheeljack. "Sure, sounds good to me. Go right ahead."

Wheeljack stood up carefully, swaying slightly. He fumbled with the straps on the jet pack, attempting to put it on over his shoulders. Sideswipe was surprised. The inventor really meant to do it right here, right now.

"Ah, Wheeljack? Won't your wings get in the way?" asked Sideswipe, somewhat concerned.

Wheeljack seemed taken aback at the query. "No, they fold right down. See?"

Sure enough, Wheeljack's wings dropped down neatly against his back. Sideswipe could see that the engineer was still having trouble placing the jet pack on correctly, so he helped secure it. He then stepped back, curious to see what Wheeljack would do.

First he tipped forward, and Sideswipe thought he was going to fall face plate first into the ground. But apparently it was on purpose (although possibly aided by the high grade), for Wheeljack then took off, flying parallel to the lab floor. He picked up speed in a hurry, weaving around exactly like the over-charged 'bot he was, but miraculously avoided a collision with anything in the laboratory.

"That thing's pretty powerful," Sunstreaker remarked appreciatively, observing Wheeljack as he zoomed about.

"Watch this, guys!" Wheeljack called out. He banked for a sharp turn, hitting the jet pack with an extra burst of fuel. Instead of moving forward, it shot up, heading straight for the top of the lab. The inevitable happened, as Wheeljack slammed helm-first into the ceiling. With a wrench of buckling metal, his helm spines tore free as he made his descent back to the floor, chuckling on the way down.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker unknowingly shared the same thought. _'__Huh__.'_

"What a rush," was Wheeljack's only comment as Sunstreaker took the jet pack from him.

"Not that I'm one to talk, with my jet judo, but you seem to have hit your helm kind of hard," Sideswipe said.

"So I have," Wheeljack remarked. "Ouch." It was almost an afterthought, as he rubbed his helm absently.

"Didn't you notice?" Sunstreaker asked him.

"It's all right, I have a high tolerance for pain," Wheeljack informed him.

"That actually explains a lot about you," Sunstreaker snidely commented.

"Let's have a drink to celebrate!" Sideswipe announced. "It's a success!"

"And it's all mine," Sunstreaker made sure to point out.

Before Wheeljack could say anything, Sideswipe had placed the cube of ultra high grade in his hands. By now it was almost a reflex as Wheeljack finished off a good portion of it. He reeled from the cumulative effects hitting hard all at once. "I—I don't feel so good." His vocal indicators flashed a blinding green tinge in distress.

"How about you have a seat, Wheeljack? Take a moment to recover," Sideswipe suggested, pushing him into a chair.

"Yeah, okay," Wheeljack answered, sounding ill. He flopped over onto the tabletop, striking his nose with a _clang_. He didn't move again.

"Now you're going to tell me exactly why you did that?" Sunstreaker questioned, pointing to Wheeljack.

"Because of this," Sideswipe replied, as he pulled an object out of his subspace pocket. He waved it about. It was a giant glossy red stick-on bow.

"And?"

"Come on, bro, isn't it obvious? You know, it wasn't easy getting one of these. Stores around here aren't exactly designed for Cybertronians. I had to bribe a human to go shopping for me," Sideswipe said.

"Dare I ask what you used for a bribe?" Sunstreaker inquired.

Sideswipe grinned. "Humans seem to like being seen around town in a Lamborghini," he answered.

"You let one of them ride inside of you? Ugh. I hope it was clean," Sunstreaker said with distaste. "Your shopping find is to be used _how_?"

"Like this," Sideswipe demonstrated. He tilted Wheeljack back until the engineer was looking up at the ceiling, exposing his chest plate. Sideswipe then firmly pressed the shiny red bow directly in the center of what was Wheeljack's roof in his alt mode. "Wheeljack is now a gift. It's perfect; he's even in the right colors for Christmas: red, green, and white."

Sunstreaker observed his brother's handiwork critically. "I don't know about these 'Christmas' colors, although the red bow does match well with the rest of him. But you haven't a single artistic circuit in your chassis. The bow is _crooked_," Sunstreaker proclaimed scornfully.

"Crooked? Your gears must be misaligned! How can it possibly be crooked? I stuck it right over his Autobot symbol! Are you saying it's crooked too?" argued Sideswipe.

"I'm saying that I know substandard decorating when I see it. Wheeljack is definitely missing something," Sunstreaker replied.

"Don't worry about that, I have something else," Sideswipe responded. He pulled out a green wire ribbon. "I just wasn't sure what to do with it. Maybe tie it to one of his helm fins?"

"Let me do it, you inartistic hack," Sunstreaker said, snatching the ribbon from Sideswipe. "Do you have another one of these?"

"No, the human only found one. Apparently they're really popular during this Christmas time thing," said Sideswipe.

"Well, then obviously you shouldn't put it there, it will make him look asymmetrical. That's why you need me, to point these things out."

"So where are you going to put it, O Great One?" Sideswipe mocked.

"On his center helm spine, of course," Sunstreaker said, tying the ribbon in place.

The force from Sunstreaker tying the bow jerked Wheeljack forward. As he fell against the table's edge, Sideswipe shoved him back again. "No, Wheeljack," he scolded, "you'll crush your lovely bow. We can't have you getting messed up before Ratchet sees you. He does look kind of cute like this, doesn't he Sunstreaker?"

"I take it that Wheeljack is a present for Ratchet?"

"Of course. Ratchet might have been a bit annoyed with us when he found out that we got Wheeljack over-charged and kept him here just for your jet pack. But now…he gets Wheeljack, all wrapped up in pretty bows!"

Wheeljack decided to wander into the conversation. "You're very, very red," he said, pointing to Sideswipe and laughing.

"Just call me Santa 'bot!" Sideswipe declared, striking a pose.

"What gibberish are you vocalizing now?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Oh, Santa is some guy that flies around throwing presents at the humans," Sideswipe explained.

"This Santa robot can fly? I knew it! Wheeljack, you made Santa a jet pack before me!" Sunstreaker accused.

"What? What did I do?" Wheeljack asked, disoriented.

"Santa isn't a robot, he's a human," Sideswipe corrected.

"Humans can't fly," Sunstreaker stated.

"Uh, they fly in jets," Sideswipe responded.

"The Decepticons must be involved," Sunstreaker said thoughtfully.

"There's a dent in the ceiling," Wheeljack said, apropos of nothing. "I'll have ta fix that later."

Sideswipe hauled Wheeljack out of his chair. "Riiiight. Now, let's get you to Ratchet."

* * *

They made their way down the corridor to Wheeljack's and Ratchet's quarters, one twin on either side of the inventor. Sideswipe was keeping Wheeljack from falling over. Sunstreaker just wanted to get it over with so he could gloat about his new jet pack in peace. The bows somehow both managed to stay in place. 

"Where are we going?" Wheeljack asked, one arm slung around Sideswipe's neck.

"Your quarters. I already told you that," Sideswipe answered.

"Oh," said Wheeljack.

Sunstreaker shielded his optics. "Look at him. His vocal indicators and optics are glowing so bright they're blinding me! You really gave him too much high grade. He could probably power half the Ark in his state."

"Hey, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker says you're lit up brighter than a Christmas tree!" Sideswipe laughed.

Air Raid and Fireflight walked by the trio heading in the other direction. The two Autobots were coming in from patrol. They both stopped at the sight of the other three. Air Raid opened his mouth to speak, and then paused for a moment. "Never mind, I don't want to know." They continued on their way.

"We're here," Sideswipe announced. He hit the button that activated the chimes.

Ratchet slid open the door. "Someone had better be dying…oh," he answered. Ratchet took in the visual of Wheeljack, slumped over Sideswipe. His processor skipped over the bows for the moment. "What did you do to him?" He was not jolly in the least.

Wheeljack roused himself at Ratchet's voice. "Hi, Ratchet! What're you doin' in the lab?" He continued to glow intensely as he spoke.

"He's completely tanked," Ratchet told the twins.

"Good of you to notice that. I guess that's why you're the doctor, and we're not," Sideswipe said. He smiled disarmingly.

"Why is he like this? And covered in—in…" Ratchet sputtered.

"Bows," Sunstreaker provided helpfully.

"Wheeljack's your gift, Ratchet. Ho. Ho. Ho," explained Sideswipe.

"Ho. Ho. Ho?" Ratchet asked Sunstreaker for clarification.

"Slagged if I know," he answered.

"Here you go," Sideswipe said, gently pushing Wheeljack toward Ratchet.

Ratchet caught Wheeljack before he fell over, pulling the other robot into his arms. "Why did you do this?" Ratchet asked.

"Ratchet, I'm hurt. You are so suspicious! What, we have to have an ulterior motive in order to do something nice for someone?" Sideswipe asked.

"Yes," answered Ratchet.

At the exact same instant, Sunstreaker said, "Jet Pack."

"Why am I not surprised," said Ratchet the cynic. "However, I fail to see how high grade plus bows equals jet pack."

"It's the new math, I wouldn't expect you understand," replied Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker proudly held up his new jet pack. "It worked," he said.

"Well then why don't you go enjoy it somewhere else," Ratchet suggested. He turned to go into his quarters, still holding Wheeljack in his arms.

"Wait. Aren't you going to thank us for bringing you Wheeljack?" asked Sideswipe.

Ratchet gazed at the over-charged mech clinging to him. He smirked. "Thanks."

-END-

* * *

You see? I didn't even let them get inside their quarters. Huge robot chicken. I would put off posting this for a while, but I've decided that good or bad, I love getting reviews. They are quite addicting. Besides, something rather unpleasant happened to me, and it was a horrible way to start the New Year, so I'm going to keep writing Wheeljack stories to distract myself. I've already started "Daring Wheeljack", and almost didn't post this until that was finished. But then there's the whole review-junkie thing. Hopefully this didn't make anyone cringe too badly. Being drunk is often silly, anyway. 


	7. Unexpected Wheeljack

-Unexpected Wheeljack

**Note:** A warning for a few human curse words. And a further explanation at the end.

* * *

It happened completely by accident. One of those 'happy coincidences' which Spike would not appreciate the full bitter irony of until later. He just happened to be working on a diplomatic case that required him to pass on some sensitive paperwork to DiodeTech Industries. Chip just happened to be working that day at the lab after an extended period of vacation time. While dropping off the paperwork, Spike's two-thirty appointment just happened to call and cancel, freeing up the rest of his afternoon. Of course, as he walked down the hall on the way to the exit, pondering what to do with the sudden boon of time to himself, Chip just happened to look up and see him from the open doorway… As they both saw it, an entirely lucky set of circumstances.

"Gee, hi Spike, it's really great just suddenly seeing you like this," Chip said. "If I hadn't looked up, who knows how long it'd be before we came across each other again?"

"Yeah, yeah, real terrific. It sure has been a long time, hasn't it?" Spike responded lamely.

"Yep, a long time all right," Chip agreed awkwardly. Their banter had all the hallmarks of people who were once great friends but no longer knew how to go on.

"So, uh, make any amazing discoveries lately?" Spike inquired, desperately fishing for something to talk about.

Chip laughed. "No, unfortunately not a single meteorite to name 'Meteorrini Chipparoni' in my honor."

For a moment Spike simply gaped, surprised at Chip's remark. Yet in another minute it all came back to him and his face flushed with heat. He briefly turned away and chuckled, embarrassed. "Oh _man_. Did I really say something so incredibly cheesy? Looking back, I guess I was kind of a dork at times."

"Hey, it was the eighties," Chip reassured him, grinning. "In hindsight, everyone was a bit of a doof back then."

Spike shared a relieved smile. "Yeah, I guess. Say, you remember ghetto blasters and break dancing? I never could get the hang of that junk."

"You know what? Me neither!" Chip joked, rolling his wheelchair slightly forward and gesturing to himself.

"Ha, you got me," Spike laughed. "At least you have an excuse."

"Spike, you've seen Blaster a lot more recently than I have. Did he ever decide to upgrade his alt mode; go with something more modern?" Chip inquired.

"Nope, he's still using that same old boom box tape deck. I guess he's gotta think of his cassettes, too. But it's hardly a disguise nowadays. I can't imagine anyone uses those old things anymore," Spike answered dismissively.

"Oh, now I wouldn't be too sure of that," Chip disputed. "I've still seen them around occasionally. Why, I've got a bunch of old technology myself. My dad is a collector."

"A collector of old junk?" Spike asked, snickering.

"The majority of it may be obsolete, but it's all still interesting. Most of it still works, too. I keep a few things here at the lab to play around with sometimes. You remember those Sony Walkmans?"

"Boy, do I ever! Soundwave sure had me fooled the first time he pulled that trick. I could do without _his_ cassettes any day," Spike replied.

"Well, technically, Soundwave's alternate form is a Sony microcassette recorder, not a Walkman," Chip pointed out, moving over to a row of cupboards built into the far wall. "I still have mine from back then. Here, catch!" Chip tossed Spike a Walkman taken from one of the cupboards.

"Wow, this thing is heavy," remarked Spike, hefting the small device. "Sure is a lot heavier than an iPod."

"It takes four batteries and has a fast forward button, but no rewind button. I used to have to flip the tape over to get it to rewind on the other side," Chip told him.

"Man, talk about outdated. We used to have a microwave with a dial, not buttons. My dad kept that thing forever, too. He said there was no sense in replacing it as long as it still worked." Spike shook his head ruefully. "Even then, he would fix it himself each time it broke. I finally had to replace it myself!"

"That's nothing. Not only does my dad still listen to records on the record player at home, but we also have an older record player that uses cylinders!" Chip said, looking through the contents of the cupboards in front of him.

"My dad still has an eight track player and a bunch of old eight tracks too!" Spike countered, in a bit of friendly one-upmanship.

"All right, I'll admit I'm impressed. Yet I have one too," Chip smirked. "Did you ever play Intellivision and Atari? I've still got an Atari 7800 lying around my house."

"Of course! I tried to get Jazz interested in playing Pole Position with me, but his hands were too big for the controllers. Wheeljack was gonna rig up his own version for the Autobots to use. I wonder if he ever finished it. I still remember the old Pac Man cartoons on TV," Spike replied.

"They'll make an animated series out of anything, won't they?" Chip remarked, pulling something out to hand to Spike. "You want heavy? Try this on for size!"

"Oh no way! A positively _ancient_ cell phone! This thing _does_ weigh a ton. And it's huge! You could totally club somebody over the head with it. Look at the enormous antennae sticking out here." Spike grinned, swinging the cell phone around like a weapon a few times before examining the large buttons on it. He pulled out his own cell phone, a small flip device with a built in digital camera and a color screen. "Check it out!" Spike held them both up for comparison.

"We've sure come a long way. It makes me excited for the future and all the things we can create. But we've still got far to go if we want to be as technologically advanced as the Autobots."

"Yeah, that's why my position as ambassador has become so important. Lots of Earth nations want to get on friendly terms with the most advanced species on the planet," commented Spike. "Bunch of opportunists."

While Spike was talking, Chip continued to sift through a pile of random objects he'd dumped out of an old cardboard box from the cupboard. "Well, would you look at that," he said, mostly to himself. "This must be one of the old boxes taken from the Ark when they were constructing Autobot City. I was given most of the cast-offs and unidentified items. There's a lot of older tech here, too."

"Autobots' or Humans' tech?" Spike wanted to know. He tossed the old cellular phone into the pile.

"Humans' mostly. I guess they figured since I was human and a science whiz, I'd know what to do with them," Chip theorized. "Wait a minute…Spike! Isn't this Sparkplug's?" Chip held out a video cassette with a handwritten label stuck on.

Spike took the video from his friend and read the label. "Hey, yeah, you're right! 'Trying out the new camcorder, test run. Sept. '84.'" It was so long ago that he couldn't pair up an event with the date, but he certainly knew his father's writing. "I wonder what's on it?"

Chip nodded in agreement, his curiosity plain. He suddenly snapped his fingers. "You know what, I have an AV stand in that storage closet over there. It has a VCR and an adapter capable of playing back that tape. We can watch it if you want. The tape doesn't look damaged at all."

"That'd be great," Spike said, as he pulled out the necessary equipment. "I bet my dad would love to see it too. Can I give him a call and see if he can stop by?"

"What a terrific idea! Go right ahead. If he says yes, we can wait a bit until he gets here," Chip replied, enthusiastic.

"Hey, Dad, what ya up to? …Okay, I'll be quick. Glad you're stopped at a red light. …Yeah, yeah, I get it—I should call more. …So, since you're not busy or anything, can you stop by DiodeTech Industries, that big glass building over on… Oh, you know where it's at and you're in the area? Perfect! ...Well, because Chip and I have something to show you. …Nope, it's a surprise. …All right then, see you in a few."

The two friends chatted easily now that the ice had been broken, trying to make up for the past few years of separation. But they really only had about ten minutes before Sparkplug showed up. "I would have been here faster, but the security guard at the front desk gave me a hard time. That is, until I mentioned your name, Chip," Sparkplug informed them as he stopped next to the AV stand.

"Oh, sorry, I should have let them know you were coming. Spike, let's show him what we've got." Chip gestured at the TV.

"So, you're gonna tell me what this is all about?" Sparkplug asked. He casually leaned against the wall beside the TV, cheerful yet obviously filled with impatient curiosity.

Spike shook his head, grinning. He didn't want to admit that he and Chip were nearly as clueless about what was to come as Sparkplug was. It was too much fun, watching his dad squirm in excited anticipation. "Like I told you, it's a surprise. You'll find out in a minute anyway." Spike adjusted the wires on the back of the television before hitting the play button.

"This better be good," Sparkplug commented, with a broad smile for his son. He then turned and faced the screen.

"Oh, I have a feeling it will be," Chip answered for Spike. "It _definitely_ will be."

One of the worst parts, Spike was only able to reflect much later, was that there was no warning. From the thrill of discovery—an old video in hand— to the desire to uncover the mystery of its contents, to...the abrupt sensation of the bottom of his stomach dropping out. A feeling containing such sudden, unexpected pain, it felt as if someone had walked up to him, unprovoked, and sucker-punched him directly below his ribs. He had to physically hold back an audible gasp of pain at the sight and sounds that literally filled the television screen.

"Is this okay, Spike?" The image was so close that at first it was impossible to identify it. But the voice…that voice was unmistakable. Spike clutched at a wad of fabric over his chest, sick. Why did a casual, dim memory set in the recesses of Spike's consciousness provoke warm feelings, but the immediate sounds of Wheeljack's chipper vocalizer issuing from the TV's speakers left him nearly ill?

"Stand back a little Wheeljack, you're too close. Like, way, way back." The camera wobbled for a moment as Spike's own voice was apparently accompanied by unseen gestures to his robotic friend. He actually heard his younger self _laughing_ as he spoke to Wheeljack.

The grooved, gunmetal gray lower face of the engineer, the only thing visible, finally pulled back to reveal Wheeljack crouching before Spike, trying to make his incredibly large bulk as small as possible. "How's this then—better?" Wheeljack asked.

"Yep, that'll do it. I can actually see you clearly now," young Spike responded with approval. _But man, I almost wish I couldn't,_ the current Spike thought sadly. It hit him even harder to hear how blind his adolescent self was to the dangers and sorrow the future held for each of them. "Tell the camera what this is all about," teenage Spike urged Wheeljack, oblivious and carefree.

"Well, we're out here to test my new invention and see what it can do—"

"He means blow stuff up real good. Blam!" It took Spike a moment to realize who the off-camera heckler's voice was, until he recalled with a pang—Windcharger.

"C'mon now, less talk n' more action! Let's get this show started!" That was an unseen Ironhide's voice, and Spike was shocked all over again at how much he had forgotten. Had Ironhide always sounded like that, so boisterous? Did he really have such a noticeable twang?

The camcorder revealed a glimpse of big red metal feet off to the side. The older Spike mentally begged his younger self to move just a few inches to the left. _Please, for a moment, just please take the time to really see what's right in front of you. Don't you get it? How much you'll forget later, and how little time you really have? I can't even recall if he had a chevron or not, anymore. Just let me have one good look, and I promise to hold on to it __this time; not let it slip away. _

But the camera didn't oblige him. Instead, it jerked over to the sound of Jazz's speech. "Aw, old Ironhide's gettin' impatient. You heard 'im, 'Jack. Lay it on us." The angle was awkward, but Jazz's cheery face was plainly visible. _Wow, it's been so long since the last time I saw him so…playful._ The honest realization hurt.

"Okay, sure thing. But I have ta warn ya, it's gonna be loud," Wheeljack cautioned. He seemed excited at the prospect. That was just like Wheeljack.

The thought stung just as much as the other one had. _And if it's affecting me like this, what is it doing to Dad and Chip?_ The coward in him didn't want to look over and see, but he couldn't help himself.

Chip squeezed the arms of his wheelchair tight, yet was nearly as still as a statue. His face was drained of all color except for two spots of crimson high on his cheeks. The light reflecting off his lenses hid his eyes from sight. But as Spike continued to stare he finally detected some movement. Was Chip trembling? Or was that just Spike's imagination?

With great reluctance he glanced over at his dad. Sparkplug was rigidly focused on the video, his hands fisted at his sides. Sparkplug's jaw was clenched, seemingly in anger. But Spike knew better. It wasn't just anger burning through Sparkplug. It was something deeper, closer to grief, buried beneath the layers of fury. Seeing it, Spike just had to look away.

During the few moments he'd spent noticing the others' reactions, events continued to unfold on the TV. A noisy explosion brought his attention back to the screen from the pit of unease and guilt it had fallen into. "Woooooo! Beautiful, just beautiful," teenage Spike cheered directly into the camcorder's microphone. It partially blocked out the sound of Ironhide's celebrating in the background. He almost wanted to shout at his younger self, _shut up_! _Just shut up!_

"Now I have ta admit, _that_ was worth waitin' for," Jazz declared, smacking the side of his leg with a grin.

"Pretty impressive, eh?" Wheeljack asked, clearly thrilled with the results. He hunched down in front of the camera and addressed Spike. The once familiar face appeared to be staring directly at everyone in Chip's lab. "So, what's appropriate for the situation, Spike? This?" Wheeljack attempted to form the 'OK' sign with his mechanical fingers. "Or this?" Now Wheeljack gave the camera a thumbs up.

Young Spike laughed. "Either one is fine, Wheeljack."

"Nah, don't listen ta him, Wheeljack. _This_ is more like it," Jazz informed him, also crouching down for the camera. "Gimme five, man." Jazz held out an open palm at Wheeljack.

"Give you five _what_?" Wheeljack inquired, puzzled.

"Lemme show ya. Hold out your hand," Jazz instructed. Wheeljack willingly complied. Jazz slapped it. "Now, do the same ta me." Wheeljack responded with enthusiasm. "All _right_! Now you've got it! Very cool, 'Jack."

"I'll tell you what's cooler," Windcharger said, walking into the camera's range. "Seeing if he can pull off _that_ a second time." The minibot pointed at a smoking cater out in the distance. "What do you say, Wheeljack? Can you give us an encore?"

"No problem. I've just gotta set it up again," Wheeljack replied.

"Well then, what are we waitin' for? Time ta get out there and do it! Last one ta the blast site has ta clean out the utility corridors!" Ironhide yelled with glee. The camera caught a brief view of Ironhide's rapidly retreating form as he sped off.

"Yeah!" Windcharger shouted as he transformed before the camera and charged out full speed for the cater.

"No hopped up Pontiac or lead-foot minivan is gonna beat me there," Jazz vowed. He executed a graceful swan dive as his body folded up into a Porsche and drove away. Wheeljack quickly followed.

"That's just great. Ironhide's not built for speed like the rest of them are. Halfway there he'll bust a gasket and I'll be the one stuck repairing him," Ratchet grumbled.

Hearing Ratchet suddenly speak disturbed Spike. _I didn't even know he was there, _he thought with dismay. Filled with both hope and dread Spike wished for the camcorder's lens to fall upon Ratchet, now the only way Spike would ever see him again. Yet the only thing the video camera captured for prosperity was a section of Ratchet's white legs before they morphed into the back end of an ambulance heading for the others.

"Would you look at that? Wheeljack just went ahead and raced off without me," said the Sparkplug on the TV.

_Oh, Dad, no, _thought Spike. The unrelenting camera showed no mercy. There was a younger Sparkplug, center stage, marking a sharp contrast to the man who stood in the room next to his son. The changes which had occurred so gradually to the current Spike shocked him now. A mostly full head of brown hair replaced with a badly receding hairline of solid gray. An unlined smiling face traded for one marred by lines of age and pain. The once robust man now drastically leaner, as if something were consuming him from the inside out. _When did he get so…old?__ How could I have missed it?_

"Guess he got a little overexcited, eh Dad?" teenage Spike said. _Man was I annoying._

"That's okay Sparkplug, I'm still here," said an eager to please Bumblebee. Spike just stared and stared, trying to take in every detail of his friend Bumblebee's old chassis as the camcorder swung over that way. Once, his best friend's form had been as well known to him as his own body. Now after Bumblebee's recent reformatting, it was vague at best. "Hop in, guys, I'll give ya a ride."

In the blink of an eye Bumblebee was replaced by a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. The small car popped open his doors invitingly, and the camcorder displayed a quick glimpse of a pink interior before the screen switched to white static. Just like that, in the space of less than a couple of minutes, Spike lost his chance to see his friend again as he once was. The sadness which kept building within him now reached a breaking point. _It's not fair!_ he thought in despair. _There's _never_ enough time._

Spike tried to suppress his unpleasant feelings as past events with his friends flooded his mind. His first visit to an alien planet, Wheeljack speeding him through the roads of Cybertron… _It may not look like much now, but it's home._ Then Wheeljack stood before his adolescent self, comforting him when his father had been kidnapped and brainwashed by the Decepticons. _Don't worry, Spike. As long as there's the slightest bit a' hope, I'll never stop trying to help your dad.__ I'll always do everything I can for him. _Tears had flowed freely down his face. Back then, he'd been unafraid to weep openly in front of others. _Because we never give up on the ones we love. _Wheeljack had gingerly offered a brief two-fingered embrace. _Exactly._

While he was lost in thought the screen came back to life. Presumably, the teenage Spike had resumed recording at the site of the explosion. Before they could witness any more, Sparkplug slammed his hand against the VCR's buttons. In an instant, the tape was stopped and ejected. Sparkplug stepped back from the machine, his face twisted by some powerful emotion.

There was silence for several minutes. Sparkplug folded his arms across his chest, his head bowed. Spike did not observe this, as he concentrated on one of the wall's acoustical tiles, refusing to look at anyone else. Finally Chip hesitantly spoke, his voice hushed and odd-sounding. "Sparkplug, ah, if you don't want to watch it now, you could have the tape if you'd like. It's yours."

"No," Sparkplug growled.

"Dad, I…" Spike tried to apologize without knowing why. Yet he could not finish his sentence. To do so would be like admitting that he had put his dad through that on purpose. No one else made a move for the tape.

"Did you know that some newly minted little recruit tried to give something back to me, after it happened?" Sparkplug's voice grated into the quiet. "Some young punk, looked like he couldn't tell his chest plate from his aft end, had the gall to toss a trinket at me as if that's all I wanted from 'em. No explanation, nothing."

The other two did not dare to interrupt him. It was obvious that Sparkplug needed to speak. However, it was also apparent that it was costing him a great deal to do it.

"It was an old pocket watch. That stupid 'bot, didn't know me or Wheeljack from Adam, threw the watch at me without so much as a by-your-leave. Said they were going through Wheeljack's stuff, and it had my name on it, so they figured I'd want it back. I told him he'd have to ask Wheeljack about that. He replies back, like he's commenting on the weather, Wheeljack's been terminated in the line of action, and won't have anything to say about it. That's it. The end. Done. Finished.

"I asked him, what the hell did he mean by that? I'd seen Wheeljack practically blown to kingdom come and Ratchet fixed him up like new, simple as that. I'd seen Wheeljack in pieces so small Perceptor couldn't spot 'em, and after they were done with him, he'd leap up like nothing had happened. He was a member of an advanced robotic species, and they were telling me there wasn't a damn thing they could do for him? The little twerp stared at me like I was some kinda freak.

"The only thing he would say was Wheeljack's gone. So I asked him if he could at least tell me how it happened. We don't know, he said, completely uninterested. Like it didn't even matter!"

By this time, Sparkplug's breathing had become ragged. He stopped a moment to compose himself. The only sound in the room was his audible swallowing. With a tremendous effort, his voice thick, he continued.

"I don't know if you'll even remember that rotten watch, Spike. Your great-grandfather bought that old pocket watch with his first real paycheck as a young man. It was a cheap little thing, kept lousy time, but he was proud of it. He'd even had the Witwicky name engraved on it, which probably brought the value down even more. He made sure to pass it on to your grandpa, too.

"Well, your grandfather prided himself on being a modern man. He couldn't see the point in an old-fashioned thing like that when newer watches were so much better. He gave it to me anyway, sayin' that if I was ever in a bind I could probably pawn it for a couple a' bucks.

"I didn't mind older things, so I kept it around. But the damn thing wouldn't work half the time and the novelty wore off real quick. I ended up givin' it to you when you were a tyke, for a plaything. You outgrew it, so somehow I started carrying it around again.

"One day Wheeljack happened to see me with it. He had never seen a watch before and he was eager to find out what made them tick. He explained that Cybertronians had internal chronometers, so a pocket watch was something real special, and he'd return it as soon as he was done with it. I couldn't understand how he'd want the thing, or what he'd even do with it.

"Of course I gave it to him and told him he could keep it. Call it a gift. He was so overjoyed; you'd think Christmas had come early. Once I'd given it to him I'd put it completely out of my mind.

"So it took me by surprise when a while later Wheeljack told me he had something to show me. He said he'd made me a birthday present. I don't even know how he'd found out about my birthday. Anyway, you should've seen this thing. Amazing piece a' work, absolutely amazing.

"It was a pocket watch crafted from Cybertronian metals, extra durable. And so incredibly intricate! I never did figure out how he made something so small. He said he put in a bunch of complications for the watch. I had no idea what he was talking about. He explained about all the extra functions he gave it, like moon phases, the seasons, a perpetual calendar, sun rise and sun set, a minute repeater, tourbillion… I still didn't get half of what he meant. I joked about it making my breakfast, too, and Wheeljack actually took it seriously, said he'd think about it.

"The kicker was, he had managed to fix my old pocket watch, too. He wanted to give 'em both to me. I wouldn't hear of it, but I kept the new watch. One of the best presents I ever got.

"Then when that clueless recruit handed me back that old ticker, something I knew Wheeljack had been thrilled to get once upon a time, I just… Later I drove out and threw it into the ocean. There was no way I could keep it."

His father fell silent. Spike thought he was finished. It seemed like he should say something too, but Spike had no idea what it ought to be. Yet he was mistaken about his father being done.

When Sparkplug began again, his voice shook from the force of holding back his grief. "That same day those pack of idiots sent another young punk to tell me that they were holding a memorial service. They said they'd built a nice crypt to stow the bodies with honor, and I was welcome to attend. As if that's what they would've wanted! To spend eternity in some glorified junkyard! None of those new guys understood Wheeljack one bit.

"Once, we'd got to talking, and Wheeljack mentioned what he'd like done with his chassis if he should cease functioning. Naturally I didn't take him seriously. Sure, there was a war on, but I'd seen him survive the worst already. And they were all practically immortal anyway. I expected Wheeljack to outlive me by a very long time. They were supposed to outlive us all! But if something were to happen, he wanted to keep being useful somehow, to have them take his parts to give life to new robots.

"That's something those morons would never understand. What with their empty ceremony and all. I didn't go," Sparkplug concluded on a whisper.

Out of the corner of his eyes Spike saw his dad turn to leave. He couldn't let things go like that, it didn't seem right. Once more a sense of urgency overtook him. There was a definite feeling that time was running out.

"Dad…wait."

"Yeah?" Sparkplug asked.

"We should get together sometime, have lunch or something. We've let it go too long," Spike said.

"Sure, sure. We'll do that. Chip, it's been nice seeing ya," Sparkplug said in a hollow voice.

"The sentiment's mutual," Chip returned automatically.

Spike tried not to hear Wheeljack's words in his mind again. He attempted to push away any feeling that he should be doing more right now. It was a lost cause.

_I'll always do everything I can for him._

_I know. Me too. _

-END-

* * *

So I told myself that I wouldn't touch anything post the original Transformers movie. There didn't seem to be any point. Since it was a series of prompts about Wheeljack, why write about something if Wheeljack wasn't going to be in it? But by the beginning of January, I'd been writing for over a month straight. I thought I'd take a break before finishing "Daring Wheeljack." I was feeling low. Then this sank its teeth into me and wouldn't let go.

I tried working on other things. I received a wonderful idea from Fire From Above (thank you) which inspired me. I wrote a little something, sketched out several story ideas, but in the end, I kept coming back to this one. I obsessed over the word choice and comma placement of every sentence, rewriting it so often the paragraphs stopped making sense. Finally after almost two months, it's finished. I'm still not satisfied, but I think I need to post it and step back, so I can view it from a new perspective. I can't believe how hard this was to write. …And now, for something completely different for my next story, since it's already been written. Review responses will be there, too. Thanks if you've made it this far.


	8. Teasing Wheeljack

-Teasing Wheeljack

* * *

A crowd had formed outside the Ark. It was a beautiful summer day, and Wheeljack was about to test a new non-lethal gadget. It was a perfect excuse to put off some tedious chores and hopefully be entertained in the process.

"So, what's your latest invention called?" Hound asked.

"Uh, I haven't thought of a name yet. Maybe...the Destablizoray!"

An uncomfortable pause greeted this pronouncement.

"How about...the Destroyer! Now that's a name to strike fear into the enemy!" Cliffjumper suggested.

"Might as well not even bother naming it; it'll just end up breaking anyway," Huffer remarked.

Wheeljack valiantly ignored this. "I can't call it the Destroyer, because it doesn't actually destroy anything."

"Well, then what's the point?" Sunstreaker said.

Ratchet attempted to change the subject. "How about you show us what it can do?"

Hound would not be deterred, for he was enjoying himself far too much. "You're not very good with coming up with names for things, are you, Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack gave a self-depreciating laugh. "Not really. It's never been my strong point."

"He makes so many things that pretty soon, he's gonna have to start naming things like 'number one thousand four hundred and eighty-two!'" Bluestreak giggled hysterically at his own joke. A moment later a few weak chuckles accompanied him.

"Yeah, maybe I'll develop a computer program that randomly generates names for me or somethin'. Hey, that reminds me. When we created the Dinobots, Ratchet made me name them all," Wheeljack informed them.

"Don't you dare," Ratchet immediately said.

"_And_ at first I had no problem coming up with Grimlock. I mean, a tyrannosaurus isn't supposed ta be jolly." Wheeljack's vocal indicators flashed with mirth. "Then I was sorta stuck on the others. But Ratchet gave me a wonderful idea."

"You'd better not, 'Jack," Ratchet warned.

"Oh, I think you'd better, since you've already mentioned it," Hound said with a grin.

"Well, Ratchet complained that I'd purposely made the Dinobots' designs too difficult. There was a lot of, shall we say, colorful language comin' from Ratchet while we were workin' on 'em," Wheeljack continued.

"I can imagine," Hound prompted.

"So, I decided to name Slag in honor of Ratchet's favorite word during their construction. The rest of the names just followed after that," Wheeljack finished.

"You said you'd never mention it!" Ratchet protested as the others laughed.

"Did I? I don't recall that," Wheeljack teased.

-END-

* * *

This was something I thought up a while ago, but didn't want to submit on its own, because I felt it was too short. The idea came from an article I read about Slag (Wiki?) which mentioned his name was also a curse word. I tried to think up a different prompt that I could insert this into, so it'd be longer. But nothing came, and "Unexpected Wheeljack" was sapping all my energy. So I decided to just go ahead and post this as-is. Short leaves me more room for review responses. Those reviews, I can't thank everyone enough. They really kept me going when I wanted to stop. It makes me so happy to think that someone might keep reading along with me as I write.

Fire From Above – I thank you very much for sticking with me! I glad you like the stories; it means a lot to me. And your idea, I'm going to use it and credit you when I do. It's nearly fully formed in my head now.

flamingmarsh - I'm glad you enjoyed "Drunk Wheeljack" and thought it was funny. Sideswipe's a great character for comedy. I was feeling nervous about uploading that chapter, so seeing something positive about it made me glad I posted it after all.

Cassiopeia1979 – Yes, I wanted to show some successful creativity on Wheeljack's part, and something that didn't involve explosions for once (now I'm back to explosions again—I guess one can't keep Wheeljack away from them too long). Oh, and Doc and Jack would make a terrifically terrifying dynamic duo. Great Scott indeed!

darktank – Thank you so much for saying that I make him seem so real! That's a wonderful compliment. Wheeljack is my favorite too, and I really want him to come to life, so to speak.

Bluebird Soaring – Aw, yes, Mirage has come around to seeing the artistic side of Wheeljack. And I like Mirage, so I hope I kept him mostly in character. I'm so happy "Drunk Wheeljack" was enjoyable for you! I'm pleasantly surprised you found the opening scene amazing…I was so stressed out about writing it!

Dwimordene – Wow. I never expected someone to leave me such an in-depth review. Thank you very much! I'm especially pleased that you find the characterization was convincing without being static. Hopefully when the story calls for it, I can continue to show Wheeljack changing in a believable manner. I admit I'm a Trekkie. Chris Collins, a.k.a. Chris Latta, who did the voice for Wheeljack, also was an actor in two Star Trek series. So, Wheeljack is connected to Star Trek in a way. I wouldn't call myself a particularly brave writer. I really almost did not upload "Drunk Wheeljack" because of the whole romance factor. It was very nerve-wracking, but I'm glad it seems a few people like it after all.

Thing With No Talent – Oh, I'm so glad you liked both "Creative Wheeljack" and "Drunk Wheeljack"! Thank you very much! I love Grapple and Hoist too. They were such fun to write. And yes, Sunstreaker ought to get his due as an artist. I agree about the romance, although I'm still fuzzy on how they'd go about expressing it. I'm very happy that some people don't seem to mind my leaving it at innuendo, as that's probably all I'll ever be able to manage. Better to stick with that, so people can imagine more or not, as they please. Oh, and I wanted to mention that I included a cameo of the Aerialbots for you. There is no way I could write them properly, so that's why the part was so small, but I just had to include them. I've checked everyone's profiles, now I just need to read the stories!

Vaeru – Oh, you make me so very happy to see that you think I wrote the Twins in character! Thank you so much for your review! I really wanted to get them right, especially since they will be appearing in future stories. I love to know that I'm keeping the rest in character too! That is so important to me.

Kittona – I'm glad you found it amusing! I like the thought that I entertained someone, so thanks!

ThetaLambda – Oh I love that you actually found "Creative Wheeljack" worthy of a re-read! I'm also thrilled that my descriptions came across to you! I'd love to see it illustrated. Alas, I have no artistic talent myself; otherwise I'd try to draw pictures for some of these stories. I'm always amazed at other people's talent—especially if they can both write and draw! I'm glad you thought drunk Wheeljack was cute. Yes, they certainly had a good night. Wheeljack has no clue about the bows, as Ratchet took them and is saving them for a little prank of his own. Thank you!


	9. Transforming Wheeljack

-Transforming Wheeljack

This is for darktank. Thanks for the review and the suggestion! It fit so neatly with what I was already planning on doing with this prompt. There is a warning for a mild human curse word or two. Oh, and cohabitation, I suppose, if anyone would like a warning for that.

* * *

Something was pulling him toward consciousness. Perhaps it was the fact that his body no longer required a period of shut down time. Or, perhaps it was the loud thud his hearing detected from somewhere further off. Regardless of the cause, awareness gradually stole over him.

Then a voice gave him something concrete to focus on. "Jack! Did you have to leave this gizmo right in the doorway? I nearly tripped over the damn thing. Anyway, I threw it into the back of the closet, in case you go looking for it later." A door then shut, and the muffled sound of running water followed a few moments later.

The voice was one he knew well, yet with an odd difference. The puzzle finally caused him to sit bolt upright as he tried to work it out. "Ratchet?" he questioned aloud. The sound of his own voice contained that same strangeness, and it caused him to gasp in surprise. He reached out a hand to touch the source of the vocalization. As he did, several overwhelming and conflicting sensations hit him all at once.

In front of him was a hand. This shouldn't have been surprising, since he directed the motion of his hand to approach the area of his vocalizer. However, before he could complete this action, he felt a profound difference in how his body moved, and in how it…felt, for lack of a better word. The visual of his hand both explained a great deal and raised many more questions.

Wheeljack stared at the hand while a keen sense of wonderment consumed him. After a long moment had passed, his desire to understand what he was seeing finally overcame his shock. He consciously directed the hand to open and close, watching intently as the fingers obeyed his every thought. _'This isn't my hand…but it is,' _he thought, filled with curiosity about his new appendage.

The palm was large and broad. In coloration it was ruddy, whereas the back of his hand was pale. The fingers appeared muscular and capable, with almost nonexistent, clean fingernails. The blond hair that covered the backs of his hands could not hide the small fish-hook-shaped scar on the one hand, or the ladder-shaped scar which extended across the back of the other hand.

'_Ooh, the shape of _that_ one is interesting. Maybe it's from stitches!' _Wheeljack thought with delight. As a Cybertronian, he'd never had anything precisely like human stitches. Welding, yes, but not stitches.

The possibility of experiencing something new brought him great joy. He observed with fascination the movement of the tendons under his skin as they set his hands in motion. _'It's still hard ta believe these hands are mine. But they do carry out my thought processes pretty well.' _

A vivid red weal with a small blister in the corner, which marred the side of his left index finger, caught his attention. Wheeljack jabbed the mark and immediately experienced a jolt of pain. _'How interesting! The nerve endings function as well as my robotic pain sensors does!' _

Wheeljack slid off the tall bed and tested the motor function of the rest of his unfamiliar body. As he twisted and moved about, he tried to see as much of his person as possible. Unfortunately he discovered that his new body was covered in some sort of clothing. He was amused by the fact that the two piece outfit he now wore was white with thin red and green stripes, reminiscent of the colors on his chassis.

However, it blocked his view. So, with a moment's consideration for the mechanics of buttons, Wheeljack made short work of his long-sleeved top and tossed it aside. Clothing couldn't compare to figuring out how the human body he inhabited worked. His rough hands glided over his softer torso, and he enjoyed the contrast. He felt the difference in the hard, wiry muscles of his arms versus the give in his spongy abdomen. _'I even have a navel!'_ he thought, amazed.

In all the excitement over his new form, consideration for the whys and hows had been temporarily disregarded. Now Wheeljack couldn't help thinking about the urgent question of what was he doing in a human body? Or even more importantly, why did he not remember how or when it happened?

'_Here I am, in this sleeping area,' _he quickly surveyed the unknown room as he pondered this, _'an' I wake up as a human, but earlier, I was…'_ He paused thoughtfully, but his mind hit a blank wall. Beyond it he could recall his life as a robot, a member of the Autobots, and as a mechanical engineer. Yet try as he might, he could not bridge over the chasm of the two halves of his existence. He was worried as he fully realized his lack of knowledge about his current circumstances.

'_Wait! That was Ratchet's voice I heard earlier; I'm sure of it. It sounds as off as mine, but that must be because it's coming from a human body now. If Ratchet is here, then there's a good chance that he knows what's goin' on.' _With this thought Wheeljack perked up again instantly.

He decided to head for the source of the earlier commotion. There were two doors in the room, both shut. When Wheeljack entered the first door, he was shocked anew at the sight of an unknown human male standing in front of a long countertop, a couple of cabinets below and an equally long mirror above. A brief inventory revealed two sinks set into the natural stone counter, a green curtain pulled across the opposite wall, a squat white porcelain contraption in a corner, and another door at the other end of the room. His mind supplied him with the word "bathroom", obtained from watching human television.

Wheeljack's surprise shifted to gradual recognition. _'Oh, heh, I guess that's Ratchet in a human body.' _He was still being overloaded with all the changes, and he gaped in awe at Ratchet's bizarrely reformatted figure. Brown hair streaked with gray covered his head, small lines radiated from the corners of dark blue eyes, and a frown of concentration creased Ratchet's brow. The other man held a small device in one hand which buzzed loudly as he rubbed it over his face. Wheeljack observed this strange ritual closely, his baffled amazement plain.

Ratchet wore what Wheeljack deduced must be some variation on the standard human uniform: bottoms with a crease pressed into them, a top that sported buttons down the front with rolled up cuffs, and some sort of cloth covering his feet. Ratchet finished with his face and suddenly went still. His eyes caught sight of Wheeljack standing behind him in the mirror and he frowned at Wheeljack's stunned expression. "What's wrong?" Ratchet asked.

Wheeljack did not hear Ratchet's question. Instead he was drawn to his own reflection in the mirror. Here was further proof of his transformation from robot to human. It was his first glimpse of his new face, and he couldn't stop staring.

He flicked the end of his nose, laughing. Wheeljack then noticed his teeth and barred them, clacking the slightly crooked white teeth together. He tugged on his ash blond hair by the handful, noting the wiry white strands that were mixed in. His hair stood up on end even more after this performance. Wheeljack stroked the darker, almost reddish, stubble on his cheeks.

Ratchet observed all this with concern. But all he said was, "Yes, you _do_ need to shave," as he pulled off the top of his electric razor and tapped out the bits of hair into the sink.

Wheeljack saw this and was instantly captivated by the exposed machinery. He noticed that Ratchet's face was now smooth, and put two and two together. The engineer longed to take apart the gadget and see how it worked.

His obsessive interest in the razor did not go unseen. "Don't tell me you forgot to plug in your razor again! Here, you can use mine," Ratchet offered, exasperated. "Whatever happened to your self-recharging batteries you were working on, anyway?"

Wheeljack snatched the item and after finding the switch, carefully imitated the movements Ratchet had used earlier. "Self-recharging batteries? Hey, that's a great idea!" Wheeljack exclaimed.

Ratchet gave him a funny look. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"Ah, I don't know. Maybe?" Wheeljack guessed. He wasn't sure exactly what Ratchet was referring to—their turning into humans, or something else.

Ratchet shook his head and sighed. "Just hurry up, or you'll be late for work," Ratchet cautioned. He turned and entered the bathroom's second door, leaving it partially ajar.

Wheeljack glanced over into the other room, where he saw a chest of drawers, some shelves, and clothes hanging from rods. But Wheeljack was more interested in the device he still held, and he cheerfully set about taking it apart while Ratchet was occupied in the clothing room. He had only managed to take the top half off when Ratchet walked in again, a white coat and a belt over his arm.

"What are you doing? We're both running late, and you're not even dressed yet!" Ratchet pointed out.

"But…I'm already dressed," Wheeljack stated, confused. He set the pieces of the razor aside and watched, enthralled, as Ratchet proceeded to pull out a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. _'Wow. I get to see someone do this up close instead of on a TV commercial!' _the engineer thought.

With a wave of his toothbrush, Ratchet gestured at the open closet door. "I'm sure the bunch a' eccentrics you work with wouldn't bat an eyelash to see you show up in your pajamas, but everywhere else you go it's gonna cause problems. Get something else on, and hurry up about it!"

"Uh, okay," Wheeljack replied with a shrug. He wasn't sure what was wrong with the pajamas he was wearing, since they seemed to cover his new human body just fine. They also felt wonderfully soft and comfortable against his skin. When he had asked Sparkplug why humans wore clothes, Sparkplug mentioned modesty, which went completely over Wheeljack's head. After several failed attempts to explain the concept, Sparkplug told him that humans needed to protect their bodies from the elements. But didn't pajamas already do that? Oh well.

In the closet Wheeljack finally selected a pair of cargo pants with lots of excellent pockets for holding things, and an old faded tee-shirt with a tech company's logo on it. He looked around for those coverings Ratchet had on his feet, and located a few pairs in a drawer. He put on a red sock and a green sock, to match his Lancia alt. mode.

When Ratchet spotted the mismatched socks, his lips twitched. To Wheeljack's disappointment, he had already finished brushing his teeth, and was now putting on his white coat. He then leaned over and ruffled the back of Wheeljack's messy head.

"Just as I thought. Still wet. I told you not to take a shower directly before bed. Use the brush on that unruly mop of yours," Ratchet ordered, as he handed Wheeljack a hair brush.

He frowned in concentration as he stared into the mirror. Going by the movies he'd seen, he decided to brush out his hair in the direction it seemed to want to go. The end result was that it stood up all over in spiky clumps.

"Somehow you've managed to make it look worse than when you started," Ratchet chuckled, "as usual." He put on his belt and left the room.

Wheeljack was torn between following Ratchet to ask his questions about their current predicament, and studying the intriguing items on the counter in front of him. However, the immediate allure of the hard plastic missile-shaped tube of toothpaste won out in the end. There was a trigger-like button below what appeared to be a gun barrel spout for the teeth cleaning goo. He aimed at the toothbrush and pressed down on the button as far as it would go.

A red, white, and green striped gel-paste mix squirted out everywhere. Puzzled, he wiped the ooze off himself with a hand towel and tossed it aside, ready to tackle the problem. Ignoring the rest of the goopy mess, he took apart the toothpaste pump. "The spring is probably too big," he said to himself, carefully examining it.

"Hey, you should be headin' out by now! What're ya doing in there, building the Brooklyn Bridge?"

"What d' ya mean? Where am I supposed ta be goin'?" Wheeljack asked, following the sound of Ratchet's voice out into a large open area.

To his left was an archway leading to a sea of cabinets and appliances. A cabinet island with a double sink stood in the middle. To his right were a table, chairs and a china hutch. Straight ahead Wheeljack spotted an even larger area filled with bookcases, couches, a small fireplace and a television set. Next to the fireplace, sliding glass doors filled part of the wall space. Tall windows covered most of the remaining wall area on two sides.

Wheeljack looked up at the vaulted ceiling. _'It's high enough in here that Bumblebee could stand up without hitting his helm.' _

Beside the kitchen island, Ratchet stuffed one last bite of something into his mouth and tossed a mug he'd been drinking from into the sink. "Ya know, work? That place you occasionally go to where the morons don't appreciate you enough?" Ratchet answered.

He observed how Wheeljack just stood there with a blank, almost surprised look on his face. It was as if everything was completely new to him. From Ratchet's perspective, Jack had been _off_ all morning, and it worried Ratchet.

"Oh, heh, work. I guess you mentioned that earlier. But ya see, and this is gonna sound weird ta ya, I suppose, but I—" Wheeljack tried to explain, before Ratchet cut him off.

"You're sick, aren't you? I knew it! I told you not to come see me for lunch the other day at the hospital. Something's been going around lately—not that that place isn't crawling with germs anyway; no matter how much it's cleaned. It finally caught up to you. Oh, _Jack_. Sit down and let me take a look at ya."

He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat, looking up at Ratchet expectantly. He had no idea if his human body was sick or not. But as a new experience, being sick was bound to be interesting.

"You do feel a bit hot," Ratchet announced, placing his hand on Wheeljack's forehead. He felt around under Wheeljack's jaw and along his neck. "Hmm, and I'm not positive, but your lymph nodes feel a little swollen, too." Ratchet leaned his forehead against Wheeljack's and looked him right in the eyes. "Stay home today and rest. I mean it. And remember to eat something. Drink some orange juice while you're at it. It could help."

Ratchet glanced over at the time displayed on the oven and immediately patted himself down. "I'm so late! Let's see, wallet, badge…" He pulled out an ID badge and clipped it on his coat. Wheeljack spotted a caduceus on it as Ratchet walked into the kitchen. "I've gotta find my keys. Have you seen my keys anywhere?" Ratchet started searching the countertops.

"N-no," Wheeljack said. He'd never held human keys in his hand before that he could recall. This not remembering how he turned human and everything after that was a bit alarming, but perhaps it'd all come back to him soon.

"Ah-ha! I found 'em! Look, if Bradshaw calls, just tell him you're sick. It's not like you can't work on the plans from home anyway. I might be pulling a double-shift if Malone can't come in again today; remember how I said something was going around? I'll call you if I'm gonna be late. Don't forget about the orange juice!" Ratchet insisted as he was leaving.

Wheeljack watched Ratchet turn the corner and go out a door at the end of a short hall. Beyond was the outside world, ready to be explored from a human's point of view. Wheeljack wanted to see it all, but first things first. Orange juice, whatever that was.

Now where to find the stuff? It was obviously food of some kind, since Ratchet mentioned drinking it. The place where Ratchet had been eating and drinking earlier seemed to be a good place to begin. Wheeljack started opening up random cupboards. One contained glasses. He knew those were meant to hold drinks, so Wheeljack pulled one out and set it on the counter.

He spotted a large shiny device with lots of knobs and buttons. With the turn of a knob, flames burst from the hulking object. With another turn, they went out. Wheeljack grinned. This was so much fun!

He couldn't wait to taste orange juice. Sure, Cybertronians had a sense of smell, and humans experienced a great deal of their taste sensation through their sense of smell. Yet unlike humans, there was a complete lack of tasting involved with refueling. Energon didn't have a flavor; it had a _feel_. Either one felt fully recharged after having some, or one felt overcharged after having high grade. Although he had no frame of reference, he was excited to try out the tasting and eating thing.

Another big shiny object with interesting buttons, levers and handles drew him forward like a magnet. He pressed a lever without conscious thought, and ice cubes poured out over the small shelf. Wheeljack watched them clatter to the floor in delight. The heat venting from the bottom of the refrigerator rapidly melted the ice cubes, which formed puddles beneath Wheeljack's feet. This went unnoticed, as he was already drawn to something else. A quick read of the buttons above the levers had him experimenting again. A small pile of crushed ice formed on the tiny tray-like shelf. He pushed the light button on and off happily.

Then there was the last lever, labeled "water". Wheeljack considered that a moment before bringing the glass over to press the lever. He watched it fill with satisfaction. _'Humans need water anyway,' _he thought, carefully placing the glass back down.

A strong aroma reached him from a glass pitcher thing resting inside another gadget. It seemed familiar, and he tried to place it. "Sparkplug…coffee! That's where I've smelled that before. Great! Something more to try." He pulled out two more glasses and arranged them precisely equidistant from the water glass. "Now to locate the orange juice."

Two handles begged to be tugged on the shiny box. Cold air blasted him from both sides as he opened them. One side was colder. It only had strange cardboard squares and foil-wrapped bits; he closed it. The other side was more promising. Among all the odd new things he finally spied a carton identifying itself as orange juice, with a cheery cartoon drawing of an orange on it.

In short order he had three glasses half-filled. He tried the coffee first, and instantly scalded his tongue. "Wow—hot!" he exclaimed, setting the glass down in shock. He attempted to puzzle out the flavor while sticking out his tongue to inspect it. "These bumps must be the taste buds. Hmm, pain's going away, getting numb. Flavor's kinda…strong. Wish I had something ta compare it to."

Having learned a valuable lesson, he stuck a finger in each of the other liquids. "These're cold. Okay. Water first. Huh. Doesn't taste like much of anything. How 'bout the orange juice? …Uh! That's strong too. Different, but really potent." He wondered if there wasn't a better way to categorize the tastes.

Just then a loud ringing started up. Wheeljack found something attached to the wall that made the insistent noise. "A…phone!" he guessed, and held it to his ear as he'd seen humans do before. "Hello?"

"Oh, hey, Jack baby, glad we caught ya. Listen, I know you weren't plannin' on comin' in to work today. But, ha, ya know how Terry is; things get so muddled around here… What it is, we've kinda run into a little problem, and we need you to come and fix it, pronto. Think you can do that for us, Jack old pal?" a voice on the other end of the phone questioned.

Wheeljack didn't recognize the overly jolly tone. However, he did catch the word _work_, and he followed Ratchet's advice. "I'm sick," he said, straight to the point.

"Really? Damn! I mean, hope you get better soon pal. Just take it easy, and get back to us whenever you can." A dial tone droned in Wheeljack's ear after this speech.

"That phone thing wasn't as exciting as I thought it'd be. I wonder how it works…" Wheeljack looked around for something to help him dismantle the telephone. He opened a door at the other end of the kitchen and discovered the mother lode of tools. Cabinets, shelves, magnetic bars, hooks…all contained tools of one sort or another. Wheeljack was in ecstasy. Gleefully he disassembled and reassembled the phone, carefully noting its construction as he did so.

The secrets of the telephone now revealed to him, he remembered that he needed to find out everything he could about being human. He also wanted to learn more about his new sense of taste. He went over to the bookshelves and discovered fiction, medical texts, and books on engineering, but nothing generalized enough for his needs.

There were some photographs on the shelves with the books, and Wheeljack examined them too. He recognized his transformed human body and Ratchet's in several of them, but other humans in the photos were a complete mystery. In one picture human Wheeljack stood next to a California redwood, smiling as he was dwarfed by the massive tree. Wheeljack had visited that same place as a robot, and laughed now at the size difference.

'_But why can't I recall any of this stuff? Maybe going outside will jog my memory. If not, Ratchet will be back later to explain things, and I can always track down a bookstore while I'm out. I'd love to find a useful book on bein' human.' _

Determined to discover more about his situation, he went out the sliding glass door and stood on the balcony, looking out. Below him was a curving sidewalk with people walking by. Beyond that was a beach. Wheeljack breathed in deeply, smelling the salt water tang of the ocean air, and feeling the warm sun on his new body. Despite the crowds, he felt peaceful. The balcony was too high up for his current body to jump, so he decided to leave the house the way Ratchet had.

Outside, he looked up at the house. The main living area was above a large garage. On the sidewalk he met a woman walking her small white dog. She cooed to it as it reluctantly followed her next door. Once in her driveway she spotted Wheeljack.

"Well, what do you know, it's the absent-minded professor! Got any major explosions cooking today? All I can say is, thank God you finally reinforced that lab you got in the garage. Having the fire department come out that one time after you practically blew up the place was more than enough excitement for me. Now all I gotta deal with is that hot shot Hollywood producer and his loud parties across the street. Try to keep yourself in one piece today, okay?" she said as she entered her house.

"Sure, I guess," he said, confused.

Wheeljack went down the long street to the intersection and turned, where he found a busy street full of shops and people. "Now this is more like it. I'm sure to find what I'm looking for here."

Luckily for him, he was right. A small used bookstore was just down the street. As he went in, two men looked up and walked over to him.

The first person to approach him was a slim black man of average height, with a shaved head sporting sunglasses and big smile. He patted Wheeljack on the back and shook his hand at the same time. "How's it goin', Jack? You manage to convince 'im to take any time off work yet? He must have at least six months worth of vacation time saved up."

The second man greeted him far more sedately with a brief wave of his hand. His neatly trimmed, mostly gray hair matched his carefully pressed, dapper gray suit. "Hello, Jack."

Wheeljack's mouth dropped open in surprise. "H-hi," he replied, flustered. _'Jazz and Prowl? Can it be? It sounds just like 'em! They obviously recognize me, even if I don't recognize them. But that means…has everyone been turned human?' _

The probably-Prowl person leaned in to the probably-Jazz person. "Don't look now, but I think that customer over there is trying to steal something. He's acting very suspiciously," probably-Prowl whispered.

"Oh, c'mon now! I'm sure it's something perfectly innocent. Besides, you're off duty. If something's goin' down, they got employees here to take care a' that," the likely-Jazz pointed out.

"As I've said countless times before, a police officer is never truly off duty. I cannot just ignore a crime taking place. I have a responsibility, and the public trusts that I will not simply forget about it when my shift is over," the increasingly-obvious Prowl lectured.

"Well, that sounds real nice. Let's play it this way. I'll go up to the suspect, and I'll ask him if he's intending to rip off th' place. If he isn't, my mistake, and no harm done. If he is, he'll get scared off, and the bookstore is safe. How 'bout that?" Jazz suggested with a large toothy grin.

"No, that's not how we do things. Why don't we just go pay for our things now instead?" Prowl countered.

"That'll work too," Jazz answered smartly. He winked at Wheeljack as he and Prowl went over to the check-out counter.

Wheeljack, still vaguely alarmed by the fact that all of his friends may have been similarly transformed, tried to recall why he was in the bookstore in the first place. He wandered over to a cart of books. None of the volumes in front of him held his attention.

Down one of the aisles a tall man with black hair and a distracted air about him stood talking to himself. He adjusted the precarious perch of his small glasses as he muttered, "Logically, the latest tome on the findings of the eminent physicist Dr. Nebulon _should_ be located right here. Obviously their shelving system is woefully inadequate to the task…"

The engineer was struck at once by the voice and mannerisms of the other man, who reminded him of his friend. "Perceptor!" Wheeljack called out, but the other person did not hear him as he moved off to another aisle.

"Can I help you?" a young woman asked, walking up from behind him. She wore a shirt with the bookstore's design on it.

"Uh, probably. Thanks," Wheeljack replied.

"Sooo, what book are you looking for?" she prompted after Wheeljack did not continue.

"Something explaining how to be human," Wheeljack answered.

"O-_kay_. Fine. So, you probably want either philosophy or self-help. Which will it be?" The woman waited for his response with one eyebrow raised.

"Self-help?" Wheeljack hazarded a guess. She pointed to a row of books across from them and walked away.

He was still standing there with a bewildered expression on his face when Jazz and Prowl found him. "You don't look so good. Maybe you should come outside for some fresh air," Jazz said.

"Yeah," said Wheeljack, allowing himself to be lead out of the store.

"We're heading out right now," Jazz gestured to the bus pulling up just then as he tipped his sunglasses down over his eyes, "but tonight we were thinking of getting together and goin' ta catch a flick over at the old theater. It's classic film night. You an' th' doc wanna join us?"

"They're showing _Animal Crackers_," Prowl supplied. "I like Zeppo best."

"Ya don't say," Jazz interjected. "I never would a' guessed."

"I don't know if we can come," Wheeljack answered honestly. Without a clue as what was going on, he felt cut adrift. A movie sounded good, however.

"Hope you can make it!" Jazz called as they got on the bus. The loud diesel engine rumbled as it pulled away.

Now that he didn't have a clear destination in mind, Wheeljack followed the crowds on the sidewalk. He stepped out into the street before the indicator switched to "walk". A pair of older teenage boys raced past him in the crosswalk. "Look at the lamebrain slowly crossin' th' street like a blind granny," one of the boys shouted.

"What' a loony. Hey, geek, tryin' ta get y'self turned in ta a pancake?" the other boy yelled at him.

Wheeljack quickened his pace and made it across the street in one piece. He stared at the rapidly retreating boys as they ran off through the crowd, shoving people out of the way as they went. The two boys looked like twins, with matching builds and facial features—except for one thing. While both boys wore red-lensed sunglasses and torn up shirts with purple insignias, one boy had his black hair slightly tinted blue while the other left his hair plain.

"Rumble and Frenzy?" Wheeljack wondered out loud. "Have the Decepticons got hit, too?"

An electronics store was now directly in front of him. Wheeljack wanted to get closer to all the doodads displayed in the window. As he approached the large plate-glass window, he saw his pale reflection through the sunlight bouncing off the dusty haze. It still caught him off guard every time he saw himself as a human. He reached out to touch his mirror image in the glass, mesmerized. The image warped and twisted as he studied it, and then he was staring at himself as a robot instead of a human. He drew in a breath sharply at this development.

"Huh? Th-that's me, as I'm supposed ta be!" He touched his human body to confirm that it hadn't changed too. "My old body," he said wistfully. "But how?" He reached out again to touch his robot reflection. As he moved, the viewing angle changed, and he lost the image in the window.

"It's gone," he whispered, disappointed. Wheeljack tried to back up on the sidewalk in order to get in the right spot to see it again. He stumbled over the curb and fell into the road, a painful blow hitting his body.

"Oh my gosh, Wheeljack! I'm awfully sorry. Are you hurt real bad? Should I radio Ratchet an' tell 'im to come out here? I didn't do it on purpose, honest! There's this fire, and I'm late getting to it, and I didn't see you there, buddy!" Inferno exclaimed, anxious.

"I'm…fine," Wheeljack said, even though he wasn't sure if he was. He felt really weird.

Large hands made a fumbling inspection of his body. "Is there anything I can do for ya right now?" Inferno asked.

"No, I don't think so. It's all right. It's not your fault," Wheeljack hastened to reassure Inferno, while realizing something peculiar had just taken place. He became aware that his human body was no longer human. He was now in his familiar Lancia Stratos race car form, parked next to the sidewalk where moments ago he had stood as a human. Inferno crouched behind him in robot mode, fussing over his crumpled back end.

"Aw, I hit ya hard, too! Please tell me you'll get looked at quick as ya can," Inferno said, worried.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be okay. Go and take care of that fire," Wheeljack said.

"If you're sure. See ya later, Wheeljack!" Inferno yelled as he transformed into a red fire truck and sped away, sirens blaring. The traffic around him slowly parted to let him through.

"Well, they didn't have the part you wanted here. You may have to fabricate it yourself," Sparkplug said, walking up to Wheeljack as he left the electronics store. He stopped short of Wheeljack's car door. "What happened?" Sparkplug gasped, alarmed.

"That's what I'm wondering," Wheeljack muttered, although he had something else in mind.

"You get in some kinda accident? You look terrible!" Sparkplug circled Wheeljack's vehicle form, frowning.

"Inferno hit me while racin' to a fire. It's okay, though," Wheeljack explained, still puzzled over his abrupt transformation.

"It doesn't look okay to me. Your back half is all smashed up. Can you transform?" Sparkplug asked.

"I—probably. Let's find out." Wheeljack forced his crushed arms out and his head through, finally standing up as a robot. Pieces of him, including half his spoiler, littered the ground behind him. He shifted back again and tested his engine, which was located to the rear. It choked once then smoothed out.

Sparkplug was still upset, pacing along the sidewalk. "So, you think you can drive? I'll just pick up as many pieces of you as I can and we'll get back to base as fast as you can manage."

"Right," Wheeljack agreed, while his mind was mostly occupied elsewhere. _'So everything that just happened, what does it mean? Am I a robot who dreams he's a man, or a man who dreams he's a robot? Heh, probably just a glitch in my programming.'_

-END-

* * *

**Note: **So, hopefully I left the story vague enough so that readers can form their own opinions as to what happened and why in the story. (Hopefully someone will read this and actually respond. I'd love to hear what everyone thought!) I do have an explanation ready, if anyone wants it. I guess this wasn't a traditional Wheeljack-turns-human story, but I'd be happy to write one of those if someone wants me to. Their human forms were inspired by fan art and my own imagination. Jazz was based quite a bit on his brilliant voice actor, Scatman Crothers, but not entirely. The comment that Wheeljack makes at the end, about whether he's a robot who dreams that he's a man, or...is paraphrased from Chuang Tzu.

And gee, writing Prowl and Inferno was hard! Each time I write a new character, I worry about how they came out. Starscream, when he shows up, is going to give me lots of stress! Maybe I should ask for a beta reader before I finish _that_ story.


	10. Excited Wheeljack & Book Reading Pt 2

-Book Reading Wheeljack Part Two

Dedicated to S., and a conversation we had which inspired this.

* * *

Wheeljack tilted his head to the side and chuckled. Sparkplug, who was sprawled out across the tabletop beside his friend, looked up in curiosity. "Mind sharing the joke, pal?" Sparkplug inquired.

"Oh, there's no joke," Wheeljack answered, tipping back the chair he was sitting in. "It's just this book ya gave me." He held up the clamshell-like device where he stored the information from the book Sparkplug had recommended.

"Yeah?"

"Well, in the story, there's this fella reading a book, kinda like I'm doing. And, the book he's readin' has some other guy reading _another_ book. I just thought it was sorta funny, that's all."

Sparkplug thought about this and grinned. "Maybe, just maybe, there's a book somewhere with us in it, and someone else is reading it _right now_."

They looked at each other a moment. Sparkplug cocked an eyebrow with a smile, and Wheeljack flickered his vocal indicators in bright yellow amusement.

"Nah," they answered together, "couldn't be."

-END-

* * *

-Serenaded Wheeljack _or_ –Excited Wheeljack

This is an edited version of the story. With thanks to Victory Leo, for the quote which inspired this one.

Also, there is a warning for innuendo and intimacy between two robots.

* * *

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had nothing to occupy them at the moment. This, in their opinion, was a sorry state of affairs. "Let's go to that new fancy car wash on Elm Boulevard," Sunstreaker suggested.

"We already did that _twice _yesterday!" Sideswipe reminded his twin. "Of course, we just _had_ to make that second run after some dust got kicked up all over your doors going through that parking lot."

"Well then, let's drive through town and show off how fabulous we look," Sunstreaker said.

"Because that sounds like so much fun!" Sideswipe mocked.

"Got any other ideas, smart circuit?" Sunstreaker shot back.

"Not yet," Sideswipe said with a smirk.

They left the Ark with an impressive rev of their engines. Sunstreaker was very careful _not _to get any dirt on himself as they pealed out. "Hey, that looks like Wheeljack and Ratchet up ahead. I wonder what they're up to out here," Sideswipe commented.

"Probably something explosive. What else would it be, with those two involved?" Sunstreaker answered.

"Sounds like I just got a better idea, eh bro? Let's stop and see what's going on."

"Fine, if it'll keep you quiet. _Then_ we're going for that drive," Sunstreaker insisted.

The other two were transformed into their robot modes when Sunstreaker and Sideswipe approached them. The twins smoothly shifted into robot mode as well and stared at the scene before them. Ratchet was spread out on the ground, with Wheeljack on top of him, his hands busy.

"Y' know what that looks like, right?" Sideswipe nudged his brother, a sly grin on his face plate.

"Oh no, I have absolutely no idea what could be going through that twisted processor of yours right now," Sunstreaker replied sarcastically.

Wheeljack climbed off Ratchet and then helped the medic up. "There, that ought a' do it. Good as new. I just hope it doesn't break again while we're out here. I don't have another replacement part with me," Wheeljack said.

Ratchet smiled warmly. "Thanks, 'Jack."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked at each other. Sideswipe wagged his optic ridges suggestively and burst into song as he got down on one knee. "Ratchet and Wheeljack sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then come Slag, Sludge, Snarl, Swoop and Grimlock in a baby carriage!"

The silence after that musical interlude stretched out for several moments. "Kissing? That's the best you could come up with? How human-centric of you," Ratchet quipped.

"Wheeljack probably doesn't even have a mouth anyway," Sunstreaker murmured to his twin.

Sideswipe ignored his brother's comment in order to focus on taunting Ratchet. He couldn't possibly let the medic's insult to his imaginative prowess go unchallenged.

"I just wanted to mention something you could understand. I know you must get all your knowledge of intimacy from those 'practice safe overloading' holo vids they showed us at the university, plus a bit of human television. I bet you interface just like the founders did—according to regulation and everything. Of course, if you want to talk about real experience and creativity—"

Ratchet managed to produce the equivalent of a snort of disgust, despite the fact that he didn't breathe. It was said that he knew more ways to express contempt than Blaster had saved audio files.

"You think you can top me for experience and creativity? Obviously you don't know how 'creative' I can get. Why, I know more ways to overload Wheeljack's circuits than the number of orns you've been in existence!" jeered Ratchet.

"Oh, I don't know about _that_. Haven't you heard that it's not the amount of time you've been given, but instead how you spend it that counts?" Sideswipe had a smug, knowing grin on his face plate. The verbal battle of insults was on, and Sideswipe meant to win. Backing down wasn't in his nature.

During this interplay of words, Wheeljack had been busy trying to puzzle out the rhyme. "Why would we be sittin' in a tree? I don't think I've ever tried that before," he said to himself.

Since Sideswipe appeared capable of handling the other conversation on his own, Sunstreaker decided to respond to Wheeljack's musings. "I'm sure it's some dumb human thing. Humans are always doing something weird."

"But the humans couldn't possibly think that the Dinobots would fit in a baby carriage. They wouldn't need ta. They get around just fine, an' I already gave 'em the ability ta fly. Well, I suppose they _do_ lack wheels…"

"Dinobots with wheels? Perish the thought!" Sunstreaker mocked the very idea.

Some of Ratchet's and Sideswipe's conversation drifted over to the other pair. "You should see what he can do with some of his inventions," Ratchet commented suggestively.

"Really? I didn't know you liked receiving pain as well as giving it out," Sideswipe joked.

"Wheels, inventions…that's it!" Wheeljack exclaimed. He had moved on from puzzled to excited, his passion for inventing taking over.

"Should I ask?" Sunstreaker inquired, already prepared for Wheeljack to continue.

"I could give the Dinobots automobile alt. modes, just like us! A third transformation! I bet that'd be a great disguise. Surprise the heck outta Megatron the first time he sees 'em," said an increasingly excited Wheeljack.

Sunstreaker followed that thought process with great skepticism. "Sure, that's exactly what the Dinobots want to be turned into. A bunch of cars! You'll have a great time trying to change those lumbering beasts into any sort of decent vehicle, too. They'll fall all over themselves with joy when you suggest it. Or, Grimlock will be so disgusted, he'll turn you into wallpaper. Either way."

"You don't think they'll go for the idea?" Wheeljack asked, concerned.

Sunstreaker's face plate turned crafty. "No, wait, what am I saying? Of course you know the Dinobots better than I do, Wheeljack. You go right ahead with your plan," Sunstreaker encouraged.

"Hmm. It shouldn't be too hard. Bet the Dinobots will get a real charge outta it, too. I guess you're right about my not bein' able ta give 'em somethin' sleek an' fast. But what I'll lose in speed I can make up for in massive raw power," Wheeljack explained to Sunstreaker.

"…sending out waves of sheer raw power for 'explosive' results," Ratchet said to Sideswipe with a leer.

"All talk," Sideswipe dismissed, "and no action."

"Sounds like you both need a demonstration," Ratchet directed at the twins. "Wheeljack and I will be glad to provide it." Ratchet grabbed Wheeljack and held him firmly against his chassis.

"Demonstration? Well, I'm happy ya wanna help, but I don't think there's gonna be any explosions when we attempt it," Wheeljack told Ratchet.

"Without an explosion, how do you know you're doing it right?" Ratchet's deep voice rumbled against Wheeljack's audio receptors.

"I can't believe he's actually going to do it," Sideswipe said in disbelief.

"What, don't you want to see Wheeljack turned into barbeque? I think it'll be entertaining to watch," Sunstreaker informed his twin.

"Barbeque? Ratchet made some wild claims, but I didn't think they'd be into _that_," Sideswipe said.

Before a confused Sunstreaker could question Sideswipe, Ratchet provided a rather spectacular interruption. His hand transformed into one of the various medical tools he kept up his sleeve. He opened a panel on Wheeljack's waist and connected the tool with the complex hub of nerve filaments routed throughout Wheeljack's hip joint. Wheeljack wrapped his arms around Ratchet's neck and threw his helm back in pleased surprise as his vocalizer crackled inarticulately. At his waist electricity arced on the site of the connection.

"Do you think our little demonstration went well?" Ratchet asked in a very self-satisfied tone.

"Mmm, yeah, that's the way it's done all right," Wheeljack remarked in a happy daze.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were also in a daze, surprise and awe stamped upon their face plates. "So," Sideswipe finally roused himself from his shock to ask his brother, "was that what you meant by 'entertaining to watch'?"

"Um," was all Sunstreaker managed to vocalize.

"Now, does that conclude our lesson in mechanical pleasurable stimulation? Or do you need further instruction?" Ratchet asked the shocked pair still staring at him and Wheeljack.

"I don't have any objections ta that plan," Wheeljack commented, glowing a brilliant violet in contentment.

"Figured you wouldn't," Ratchet said with a lecherous grin.

"We, uh, have to be somewhere else right now," Sideswipe quickly replied as he backed away and transformed.

His brother swiftly followed his example. As he converted into his Lamborghini mode, he said, "Yeah, ah, we're definitely good to go. But say, Wheeljack? Be sure to let us know when you're ready to try that thing with the Dinobots!" The red and yellow sports cars sped off.

"What was he talking about, something involving the Dinobots? What were you and Sunstreaker plotting, anyway?" questioned Ratchet.

"Oh, you didn't hear us talking, did ya? Earlier, when you mentioned a demonstration, I thought you had. I've got this idea ta turn the Dinobots in ta triple changers with automobile modes! You'll work on it with me, right?" Wheeljack was lit up with excitement over his marvelous new project.

"_What_?"

-END-

* * *

**New Note: **"Excited Wheeljack" has been edited from the original version that I uploaded for everyone to read. I'm constantly going back over my older stories, changing little things here and there if it seems like I need to. But it helps me out even more if readers point out things that didn't work for them. So then, I can decide what I'll change, if anything. This story has probably had the most extensive revision so far out of all of them. Hopefully it flows a little better now.

I found the quote by Victory Leo dealing with Ratchet and Wheeljack sitting in a tree while randomly surfing the internet. This was the result. Forgive me. Anyway, I took your advice Fire From Above and combined two shorter prompt ideas into one chapter. I might not always do that, but "Book Reading Wheeljack Revisited" was really short. I came up with both of these during the writing of "Transforming Wheeljack", but decided not to upload this until I finished the other story.

I will respond more completely to my reviews at the end of my next story (already formed in my mind, as are several others, some in outline form). Or, I could just message people if they'd like. Right now I just want to get this uploaded before I lose my nerve. Thank you all so much for your reviews! Sorry about my sad "Unexpected Wheeljack", but considering the mood I've been in, it could have been worse. ;-) That's why these stories were so silly—to try and cheer myself up.


	11. Greedy Wheeljack

-Greedy Wheeljack

* * *

A few orn had passed since Downshift had activated his own dear creation, his pride and joy, the very culmination of his life's work—and things were still just as chaotic as ever. Oh, they had left behind that awkward stage where the newly sparked needed assistance with nearly every essential daily function. Gone too was the early confusion the young one experienced over his own identity, replaced by full self-awareness. Motor function had also evened out, to the point where Downshift had his creation testing out his alt. mode with some success. But that wasn't to say that everything was now easy…

"What's this?" asked the eager young one, grabbing an object off the wall unit.

Downshift patiently moved closer to help inspect the thing. He aimed his high beams at it as he watched his new creation turn the object over and over in his hands. "That's a Holo Cube," said Downshift.

"What's it do?" the young one inquired, desperate for knowledge. The bright optics searched for a way to further explore the Holo Cube.

"It constructs holographic images of whatever you aim it at, an' stores 'em inside itself for later viewing."

"But why? If I see something, can't I just remember it later from my central processor? Will I forget it? I don't wanna forget _anything_," said the concerned youngster earnestly.

Downshift chuckled. "Don't worry. It's not likely that you'll forget anything, the way you're built. But you can show images from the Holo Cube to other 'bots that weren't there ta see 'em."

"Ohhhh. How does it work? Can we take it apart? I wanna try it out!"

"Whoa, hold on there, kiddo. Let's see if it still functions first. I haven't looked at this in vorns," Downshift answered as he activated the cube.

"If it's broken, you can fix it, right? You can fix anything!" the freshly sparked one told his creator with admiration. "Can I help you fix it?"

"'Course you can. Just made, and already you're better n' some apprentices I've had twenty times your age. That's my brilliant little helper! You can do anything you put your processor to, kiddo, an' don't let anyone tell you different," said Downshift warmly.

He was named Wheeljack. Although, once Downshift informed his creation of the name, he rarely called him that. Once a well respected (if a bit unorthodox) scientist and inventor working a highly paid job at large technology corporation, he was now semi-retired. All his free time for the last vorn had been devoted to creating Wheeljack. Currently, all his spare time now went toward answering his young one's endless curiosity, which showed no signs of ever being completely satisfied.

After a few adjustments to the Holo Cube, a three-dimensional image of a crystal flower appeared. The detail of the representation left something to be desired, but it was still lovely. Young Wheeljack clapped as he saw the flower project itself in front of them. "It works!" he exclaimed in delight.

"It does at that. And do you know what the first new scan I'm gonna take with it will be? You," Downshift told him.

"No, please, let me do it first! I wanna take one of you," Wheeljack disagreed.

"Oh, I bet there's already one of me in here," Downshift replied. He quickly flipped through the remaining images. "Huh, guess I was wrong. Well then, Jackie, go ahead. Knock yourself out. But I get the very next scan."

The neonate happily grabbed the device and manipulated it, his fingers slightly unsure as he carefully set it up. "Do you do it like this?" asked Wheeljack.

"Yep. That's perfect. You were payin' attention," praised Downshift. "And now to start the scan, all you gotta do is focus the beam and slide this switch."

In short order Wheeljack had a holographic image of his creator staring back at him. He cheered at his success while Downshift beamed with approval. As soon as Downshift took a scan of the happy youngster, Wheeljack snatched it back and started to take scans of everything in their living quarters.

"All right," said Downshift, after many, many scans later, "I think we've thoroughly exhausted this activity—and you, for that matter."

"But I'm not tired!" protested Wheeljack.

"An' here we go again. I can never get ya to recharge until ya literally collapse on me. That's not healthy for your young systems, Jackie. Time for a little break before ya pass out."

"But why do I have to recharge before I'm tired? I know I need it when I can't stay conscious anymore," reasoned young Wheeljack.

"No, kiddo, that's when you've gone beyond needing it. Trust me on this one, okay?"

"One more megacycle!" Wheeljack bargained. He tipped his shining, hopeful face up at Downshift and his creator's resolve melted.

"Just one," agreed Downshift.

"Then will you explain how the refresher works? You said you'd tell me later, and now it's later. You also said it was runnin' slow an' you said you were gonna make it run faster. I wanna help make it better! Can I?"

Downshift laughed at his creation's enthusiasm. "Okay, okay, fine. Time for a little lesson on refresher mechanics and repair. But first, lemme get my tools."

They sat down together in front of the refresher, an open tool kit between them. Downshift prepared to instruct his more than willing audience. "Ooooh. What's this?" Wheeljack asked, pointing to an interesting looking tool.

"That's my thermo-calibrator," answered Downshift promptly.

"Well, what's it for?"

"It measures the heat output of an object, like this, see?" Downshift demonstrated on his own leg. "And then, if the readin' ya get back is too high, you can retune it like this." He demonstrated again on one of the refresher's outer tubes.

"Can I try it?"

"Sure. Here, take it in this hand, like so. Yep, good. You're doin' just fine." They continued in this fashion until both of them collapsed before they reached a recharge berth.

* * *

A little more time passed, but young Wheeljack's thirst for knowledge and Downshift's willingness to impart it did not change. If anything, both seemed to increase as time went by, but not so either would notice it. They were far too wrapped up in one of many ongoing projects.

In fact, Downshift was so thrilled with his creation's progress that he couldn't help wanting to show Wheeljack off a little. He used to be a professor at the university in their robotics engineering department—that is, until they phased it out. He still had contacts there, however, that he wished to show Wheeljack to when the child was a bit older. But there was still someone he thought might be interested. It was time to introduce young Wheeljack to another part of his family.

Unfortunately for their visitor, Downshift and Wheeljack had become so involved in their latest endeavor that they ignored their internal chronometers. Their guest walked into something that most would definitely not call putting one's best foot forward. Parts and blueprints scattered everywhere, suspicious scorch marks on the walls… At the precise moment that their guest entered, Wheeljack came from the other direction, carrying a very large weapon.

"Hi!" the young one vocalized cheerily.

"Ah…hello there. And whom might you be?" asked the startled guest.

Downshift came into the room right behind Wheeljack, talking, and then stopped in surprise. "Now Jackie, before we do this, did ya make sure the power pack was fully charged? …Oh. You're here. So that was supposed ta be…"

"Now," his guest finished for him. "At this precise moment, in fact. Did you forget you had invited me to see your creation, Downshift? It wouldn't surprise me in the least."

"Not forget, exactly… But hey! You're just in time ta see Jackie here test his new gadget. You ready, kiddo?"

"Ready!" his creation confirmed happily. "But it's not mine, really, it's yours."

"Well, you did an awful lotta work on it too. It's just as much yours as it is mine." Downshift turned toward his guest. "You've just gotta see this, the kid's amazing! He soaks up stuff like nobody's business, an' then comes up with these wild ideas…it's just great!"

"Indeed," his guest responded with far less excitement. "What did you say his name was again? Jackie? What sort of name is 'Jackie' for a Cybertronian?"

"Heh heh, yeah, uh, his name's actually Wheeljack. But ya know, the other name just seemed ta stick better," explained Downshift. He ran his hand fondly along Wheeljack's helm spines.

"Oh yes, I believe I had blocked your oh-so-charming propensity for nicknames from my mind. I can't imagine why I did that."

"That reminds me. Jackie, this is my brother. He'd be your uncle, I guess. You're lucky, kiddo. Not many 'bots can say they have an uncle."

"There is a good reason for that. My dear brother, you're a member of a dying breed. Almost no one creates handmade robots on an individual basis anymore. Certainly they wouldn't even dream of attempting such a thing without having a specific purpose in mind for their creation. Most Cybertronians are now manufactured on assembly lines. It is efficient, and it conserves precious resources which are currently in short supply. Only you would be crazy enough to waste your time on a custom-built robot like this."

"Jackie is _not_ a waste of my time! He's an individual; free ta choose whatever path in life he wants. True, I'm glad he's taken an interest in my work, but whatever he ends up doin', I'm gonna be proud of him."

Wheeljack looked at the two older robots. He noticed their frowns and it upset him. His young mind set upon a distraction, hoping it would stop the argument. "Uncle, don't ya wanna see us test out our new invention?"

"Oh, very well. Proceed." His uncle waved him on.

""I'll go set up the target while you detonate the device, okay?" Downshift informed his creation.

"Yep!" Wheeljack set the weapon he was carrying down on the floor and crouched over it, turning it until a big lens on the front pointed at the target on the opposite wall.

"Target? Downshift, what on Cybertron's second moon do you think you're doing?" His brother sounded vaguely alarmed.

"Here it goes!" exclaimed Wheeljack.

_Bang!_ The device backfired and exploded in Wheeljack's face, throwing the child backward. Before the ringing in his brother's audios had subsided, Downshift was down on the ground beside Wheeljack. He carefully examined the young 'bot with an odd metal rod.

"What…you…how could you? You just blew him up!"

"No problem. It looks worse than it is. He just has some particle dust on him from the device. It'll wash right off."

"Never mind that! He's not moving!" His brother's vocalizer became shrill toward the end as he spoke.

"He's just been off-lined temporarily. Natural result of the electrical discharge which zapped his circuits. Once the excess dissipates, he'll be as good as the orn I activated him."

"Are you listening to yourself? You took him off-line! He's practically an infant! How could you be so irresponsible as to blow up your own creation? A young innocent, who thanks to you, will probably—" his brother ranted.

"He didn't blow me up," Wheeljack refuted.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, he didn't blow me up. I blew myself up." Wheeljack sat up and blinked his optics, trying to take the grit out of them.

"Here, let me take care a' that for ya." Downshift produced a piece of absorbent material from subspace and began wiping off Wheeljack's face.

"A fine distinction," Wheeljack's uncle commented sarcastically.

"I'm okay." Wheeljack tried to bat his creator's hands away.

"And you learned a valuable lesson, didn't ya, Jackie?"

"To double check it's grounded before setting it off," answered Wheeljack. "I bet there's a problem with the ferulous couplings."

"Right. And actually, I think the problem lies with the—" Downshift began.

"This is absolutely ridiculous. The problem is letting a neonate play with explosives! You don't give a newly sparked robot a bomb and tell him to have some fun!"

"It wasn't a bomb," Wheeljack chimed in helpfully.

"That doesn't matter. The results were the same," his uncle complained.

"The device only exploded because there was a malfunction," Downshift informed him.

"_You_ have a malfunction! Letting him play about with your mistakes--"

"That's all right. If we didn't make any mistakes, we'd never learn anything," said Wheeljack.

"Way to go, Jackie! Didn't I tell you how smart he was?" gushed Downshift proudly.

"The only smart thing to do in this situation would be to teach him a nice, safe, and above all useful trade so that when he's experienced enough he can be a productive member of society. The young one would be better off with someone else raising him to maturity."

"No!" Wheeljack howled, clutching his creator's arm.

"I won't let you take him away from me," swore Downshift.

"Oh, _wonderful_. He's already imprinted upon you. Mass-manufactured robots never have this problem. And of course you won't see reason about this, because you've already become emotionally attached as well."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable. We take precautions, an' he's always supervised. I can't deny him the chance to lend me a helping hand. That's how he gains knowledge about the world around him. Real life experience is the best way to learn. 'Course, I teach him things outta datapads too…"

"Lend a hand? If you keep this up, he'll end up _losing_ a hand. Or a foot!"

"Only once so far!" Wheeljack said cheerfully. "An' he fixed it right away!"

"I don't want to hear this," his uncle groused, rubbing his helm in frustration.

"I make sure he's protected! Come on, Jackie, let's show him what we've done. You know, he helped me out a lot with this, didn't you, kiddo?"

"I sure did! I even helped come up with the idea."

"That's because you're a regular little genius! Now transform and get ready," instructed Downshift.

"This better not be something dangerous," warned Downshift's brother.

"Just the opposite. It's something to keep him safe."

"For your sake, it'd—_have you cracked your circuits_?" he shrieked.

Downshift pulled a gun out of his subspace pocket and aimed directly at Wheeljack. As he fired the weapon, his brother tackled him, but it was too late.

The shot hit Wheeljack dead on, right at the windshield of his hover car alt. mode. The brothers stood up. "Primus, Downshift, what have you done?" he whispered, distraught.

Wheeljack transformed and leapt up, jubilant. "Did you see me? Did you see? Wasn't it great? …What's wrong?"

"Your uncle thinks I just tried to hurt you," Downshift said gently, hugging Wheeljack.

"But doesn't he know you'd never hurt me on purpose?"

"It's impossible…he's completely unharmed." He stared at Wheeljack as Downshift held the youngster, and there wasn't a mark on him.

"You didn't notice the dark shield that descended over his chassis when he was transformed?" Downshift asked.

"It…happened so fast."

"When I put up my shield, nothing can harm me!" Wheeljack exclaimed. "Aren't you glad, Uncle?"

"Couldn't you at least test it with something besides a gun?"

"We did start out with a lower intensity setting," said Downshift.

"It tickles," Wheeljack said knowingly.

"Now I know why I stopped coming around here. You're a lunatic, and you're going to corrupt that child until he's just the same."

"A regular chip off the ol' engine block," joked Downshift.

* * *

"Do you think he was proud of you?" Wheeljack asked later when they were alone. The two of them sat out on the tower's balcony.

"Proud of me? Kiddo, you're the one who's something special. You might not have noticed, but he and I don't get along too well. He's an administrator. He likes to keep things organized, predictable. Inventing's not his thing. Our creator got a kick outta makin' me an' my brother so different. It's one of the reasons why you're my only creation. That and I took my time ensuring you were prefect."

"But why did he think it'd be a bad thing if I turned out just like you? You are the best!"

"Aw, you'll never be just like me. You'll always be just like _you_," answered Downshift.

"A me who wants ta be…I guess I don't know yet. But I know I wanna make robots too, and I wanna know everything there is ta know about, _ever_," said Wheeljack.

"Everything, huh? Well, I hate ta say it, Jackie, but I just don't think that's possible."

"Nothing's impossible!"

"You'd like ta think so, right? Yet, my greedy young 'bot, knowing everything about everything is a goal you can strive for, but never reach."

"But why?"

"Because stuff's always changin'. Look up at the stars above us," Downshift explained, gesturing upward. "The light from the stars you see right now took a long time ta reach us. By the time the light gets here, some of those stars may have died, so that later on, we won't see them anymore. The night sky will be different then. Why, some day Cybertron itself could move, and that would change the view completely!"

"I'm still gonna try," Wheeljack promised.

"And I won't stop you."

-END-

* * *

**Note:** About Transformers and families. In the cartoon, the only robots with obvious family connections that I can recall who actually made mention of them were Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Sideswipe actually referred to his brother as "bro", and their bio does mention that they are twins. It's possible that other robots have family connections too, even if they don't mention them. But it also seems clear to me that Cybertronians might have different concepts about family than we do. In one episode, Sideswipe, while involved in some jet judo, tells Starscream to yell, "Uncle." When Starscream does, Sideswipe jokes that he didn't know Decepticons had uncles. Now, does this mean Decepticons are less likely to have something approaching human concepts about family ties, does it mean it's true for all Cybertronians, or was it just a joke? I interpreted it here to mean that Transformers with human-style families are pretty rare.

Anyway, now that I've written this, vicious plot bunnies for separate stories have bitten me (oh dear), I have a request, and I have review responses.

**A request. **Please, for the sake of one of my next stories, could anyone offer some ideas for names for robots? I'm worse than Wheeljack when it comes to naming things. As proof of this, Wheeljack's uncle doesn't even have a name! Downshift was a bit of a cheat. Apparently, Transformers Energon Downshift's design was supposed to be in honor of G1 Wheeljack. Downshift's robot mode does resemble Wheeljack's quite a bit. So I just decided to use his name for my own character. Writing original characters is hard, but somehow naming them is even harder for me. "Intern Wheeljack", which is coming up, requires quite a few original characters. It's set on Cybertron during Wheeljack's years at university. He'll meet some of the regular G1 guys, but other classmates, professors, his future boss, etc. all need names. Ratchet has a gang of other medical students he hangs out with in need of names too. Help, anyone?

**Review responses! **I wrote these out on a piece of paper, and they were getting very long. Nearly as long as the story itself, especially when the other note is considered too. So, I've shortened them up a bit, sorry. Already I'm guessing I made "Transforming Wheeljack" too long for most people to want to read, so I doubt people like reading long author's notes. The main thing I want to say is _thank you_! Really, a huge Thank You to everyone that takes the time to hit the review button to say that you've read it and maybe enjoyed it too. It keeps me going when I'm too down to normally want to keep writing. I really appreciate it so much.

**flamingmarsh – **Thanks for continuing to stick with me!

**PrimaBird**- I'm sorry yet glad too that I was able to move you. I think it was lousy that Wheeljack and some of the others who played such an important role in the first two seasons didn't even get a line before being killed. But no explanation about his death means I'm free to make up my own.

**Bluebird Soaring** – It's great to see that some of the watch's meaning in the story came across. I really felt some sort of tribute after the off-hand death he got. I'm happy too that "Unexpected Wheeljack" _wasn't_ expected! (Pun appreciated, by the way.)

**Fire From Above** – I'm taking your advice again as I mentioned before and doing "Intern Wheeljack", although it's getting so long it may end up a separate, multi-chaptered story. I've never seen a story about Wheeljack's early life, so I'm having fun planning it out. "Conspirator Wheeljack" with the Twins is giving me ideas, too.

**ThetaLambda **– When I read your review, my reaction was a definite WOW from me! I can't stop grinning now, which will really help with writing the next story. That you took the time to tell me what worked for you… Because really, without someone commenting, I don't know if a story flopped or not. (And not everything I've written has been my favorite.) So it's wonderful to see that something which was so hard to write wasn't completely worthless.

**Byrnstar** – I have a feeling I shouldn't be completely thrilled about reading your review which informed me of my pain-inflicting capabilities (a little more remorse, maybe), but I am. Thrilled and ecstatic, a mood which is very motivating when it comes to writing more. Those new idiots deserve your wrath. Yes, I have a feeling Ratchet's loss may have pushed Wheeljack over the edge into doing something suicidally reckless during the battle. Probably Chip, Spike, and Sparkplug will never figure it out.

**EasterOfFlesh** – I agree, Wheeljack is absolutely adorable, although hearing that would only embarrass him. Disregarding the 80s movie altogether is also an appealing option. These reviews have motivated me, so I'll try to have more to read for you.

**Dragowolf** – Oh, Ratchet definitely enjoyed giving the twins a hard time. Sideswipe is already planning to get him back. The Dinobots' reaction to Wheeljack's idea is in the very next story. I hope to have it written soon.

**Thing With No Talent** – Yeah, I bet it takes a lot to faze the twins, but I think they were more surprised than anything else. They didn't expect it of Ratchet, the so-called old geezer. And I thought writing scenes like that would get easier the second time. No such luck.

**darktank** – I'm so very happy you liked "Transforming Wheeljack", since it was for you. I'm not so sad now that I have my writing to focus on again, thanks! This next year will be a bad one, and I'm afraid 35 WJs might be finished before then, so I'll have to come up with more Transformers stories to distract me. It's good Prowl came out all right, since he will show up in a few future prompts. Thanks too for asking about the explanation! I'll PM you with it, since this is getting long again. I like leaving things open to reader interpretation, too. Thanks for sticking with me!

**Teiya Renee** – I'm happy you read and liked "Transforming Wheeljack"; I was worried about it, especially keeping Wheeljack realistic in a human body. The funny thing is, I had a long version that continued on in my head, but I wasn't planning on uploading it. I just might now.


	12. Inspired Wheeljack

-Inspired Wheeljack

**Note:** I haven't forgotten about Perceptor, Water-smurf! He features in this one quite a bit.

This story takes place over the course of about a week's time.

* * *

"Hey, Perceptor!" Wheeljack called, waving to his friend from the entrance to the base. "I'm testin' out another of my inventions. Ya wanna come?"

"The opportunity to witness the trial through experimentation of the effectiveness of your invention would be most gratifying. However, before I consent to such an endeavor, might I inquire as to the location of the proposed experiment?"

"I'm goin' ta Woodland park. They've got a nice, big field that's generally empty durin' the humans' week days."

"Have you formulated an alternate solution should the contingency arise? The possibility of accidental human habitation of the test area does occur to me and should be taken under advisement," Perceptor cautioned.

"Oh yeah, I've got that covered. The field is surrounded by a fence that the humans with the parks and recreation department keep locked at night. They said I could lock it when I needed it. I've used it before," Wheeljack replied.

"Then I must express my absolute pleasure in being elected to accompany you on this venture," Perceptor remarked.

"Great! I have everything with me, are ya ready ta go?"

"Affirmative," Perceptor confirmed. With this assurance Wheeljack transformed and waited for Perceptor to reconfigure himself into microscope mode. Wheeljack lowered his window for his friend as Perceptor flew through the air and landed on Wheeljack's passenger seat.

* * *

When they arrived at the park they were forced to transform and carefully walk the rest of the way to the field. "The road only goes so far in," Wheeljack explained. "Our destination's in a remote part a' the park. Ya gotta watch your step, though. Even durin' the week there's still a few humans runnin' around."

"Ah yes, a confirmation of my earlier reservations on the matter. Your caution is duly noted. I shall maintain constant vigilance."

As Perceptor made his declaration, there was a break in the trees that followed a shallow stream. Beyond the tree break a sidewalk meandered alongside the stream as well. The two robots had been carefully picking their way around the trees, but at the sudden open space Perceptor jerked back and fell, crushing a small sapling.

"Hi, guys!" Wheeljack said, waving madly. He helped Perceptor up and they both crouched down to talk to the two humans who were sitting on a bench next to the path.

"Hey Wheeljack, Perceptor. What're you guys doing here?" Spike asked, looking up. He was tugging something on his foot that Wheeljack had never seen before.

"Just testin' out one a' my inventions in the fenced field ahead of us. What's that, Spike?" Wheeljack pointed out the odd-looking things, staring at them curiously.

"These?" Spike lifted up one foot. "Roller skates. Carly talked me into skating with her at the park. I just know I'm gonna regret it."

"It won't be that bad. I bet you'll be having lots of fun in no time. Everybody's into roller skating now. I can't believe you've never done it before," Carly said.

"With good reason! _I_ bet I'll end up breaking my neck!" Spike complained, carefully standing up with his skates on. He grabbed the park bench to steady himself.

"Hmm. So, they're little wheels that you wear on your feet?" Wheeljack questioned, rubbing the bottom of his helm in thought. "That looks really interesting. I bet a modified version of it would come in handy for us. We could remain in robot mode during battle, but still move around fast on our own skates."

"Indeed. The notion does inspire numerous possibilities," Perceptor agreed.

"Autobots on roller skates? You've gotta be kidding me!" Spike exclaimed. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard."

Carly laughed in surprise. "No, wait," she said. "If Wheeljack wants to try it, I say go ahead. It sounds like a riot!" She grinned up at the two scientists.

"Can you show us how they work?" Wheeljack asked.

"Sure." Carly happily demonstrated her skills, skating in quick loops along the path. Spike wobbled behind her, following far more slowly. She finally grabbed his elbow and pulled him with her. "See? There's nothing to it!"

"Speak for yourself!" Spike commented nervously.

"That's great! Thanks guys! Have fun!" Wheeljack waved again as the two continued on their way.

"We will! Have fun with your invention, and try not to destroy too much of the park in the process!" Carly called after them.

"Oh, geez, don't encourage them!" Spike moaned.

"Too late!" Carly answered. "Let's see how long it takes us to get to the baseball diamond!" She sped off, yanking Spike along.

* * *

"The more I think about it, the better it seems. Our very own set of roller skates! I could manufacture a prototype in no time. If it works out okay, I could make up a bunch for all the Autobots!" Wheeljack mimicked the movement of someone on roller skates with his hand as he spoke.

"I would not be averse to an experimental pair myself, Wheeljack. We could test them right here at our current location," Perceptor suggested.

"Yeah! I wanna get started on 'em right away. Just as soon as we try out my latest invention."

Wheeljack walked out to the center of the field and pulled out his invention from his subspace pocket. He proceeded to set up his device. Perceptor observed the process with fascination. "Would you mind informing me of its purpose?" Perceptor queried.

"Didn't I already mention it? This is supposed ta mimic Trailbreaker's force field, only it's not as powerful. I figure it'll help him out, and save the drain on his systems," Wheeljack explained.

"A commendable objective."

"If it works… Hey, I just thought a' something! This simplifies everything!" Wheeljack paced for a moment, his vocal indicators glowing a bright, happy blue as he spoke. "Grimlock and the others were a little disappointed when I told 'em that I couldn't let them tag along to the park. They need ta get out and stretch their servos every once in awhile, ya know? But I figured that they'd be too big for this place. I promised I'd take 'em to the island instead when I was finished here, but they were still kinda upset about the whole thing."

Perceptor wondered if 'kinda upset' was a gross understatement on Wheeljack's part. It took a great deal to rattle the bold inventor, who often dove in where others feared to tread. However, if anyone was qualified to deal with the Dinobots' tantrums, it was Wheeljack. "I am not cognizant of the correlation between our previous discussion and the Dinobots," Perceptor commented, puzzled.

"That's right; I didn't tell ya about my planned upgrade for the Dinobots. Ratchet didn't want anythin' ta do with it. He said that he may have helped create 'em, but that didn't mean he had ta keep messin' around with improvements to their design—that was my department. Ratchet also mentioned that this latest idea a' mine sounded ridiculous, even for me." Wheeljack and Perceptor chuckled in mutual amusement at this. "The idea was ta give the Dinobots automobile transformations, but without Ratchet's help I shelved the plan. Now I can give 'em roller skates! I'll call right now. I bet they'll be so excited!"

Wheeljack activated his comm. device and Perceptor listened to the engineer's side of the conversation. When a surprise gift was mentioned, there was a long pause before Wheeljack reassured the Dinobots they would receive it pretty soon. "Am I to assume the communication was positively accepted?"

"Yep, they loved it! They're just a little impatient now, but I think I convinced 'em they wouldn't have long ta wait."

The day's experiment now proceeded without further interruption. After a few false starts the mini force field generator fizzled out with only a weak shimmer around their test area. Perceptor kicked it once or twice, but it did not come back to life.

"Ah well, so much for that idea. I'll probably have ta start again from scratch later. Let's see if anything off of my invention can be used to make our roller skates," Wheeljack speculated, not the least discouraged by his failure.

* * *

Wheeljack had a noted reputation for creating various complex weapons and gadgets out of seemingly random bits of anything to hand. With Perceptor's help, a determined Wheeljack assembled the roller skates in short order. They made their way without incident to a large, mostly empty parking lot beside the park's baseball field to test them out. As they put on their makeshift skates, Spike and Carly arrived. Both humans were winded from their exertions.

Carly was the first to recover. "How about we go the other way around the park now?"

"No way! I've had enough! I fell down at least six times already. I feel like Ravage just used me for a chew toy. You're never gonna get me on a pair of skates again," Spike vowed. He pulled off the skates and threw them on the asphalt for emphasis.

"Oh, come on, Spike! You've faced bigger threats than roller skates before," Carly teased. "You're not afraid of these little things, are you?" She picked up the skates and waved them at Spike. "Just once more."

Spike groaned. "My palms look like road kill, my shins are black and blue, but you want to call me chicken?"

"If the shoe, or should I say skate, fits…" Carly grinned.

"We're just about to test out our own roller skates," Wheeljack added to the discussion. "It can't be that bad, right?"

"No, it's worse," Spike complained. "But go ahead, don't let me stop you."

"Yeah, guys, let's see you in action," Carly agreed.

Spike gratefully, with great care, sank down onto the curb to watch Wheeljack and Perceptor try out their creations. He was up for anything that distracted Carly from dragging him around the park again. Besides, the sight of a couple of Autobots on roller skates was not to be missed.

"This is gonna be hilarious," he whispered to Carly gleefully.

"Hush. Try to be a little more positive, will you?" she admonished, hiding her smile with her hand.

"You know it's true," he replied.

"Ready?" Wheeljack asked. Perceptor nodded, and they both stood up on their odd looking skates. Perceptor immediately threw out his arms to steady himself as his new wheels threatened to slide out from under him. Wheeljack's naturally wide stance helped him keep his footing—that is, until he actually decided to attempt to skate forward. Bits of broken gravel scattered across the parking lot didn't help.

"I don't mean to alarm you, but I do believe that a collision is imminent."

"Look, maybe if I…watch out!"

"Oh dear," Perceptor remarked from a rather awkward position. He was folded in half, lying on his back. His legs partially obstructed his view of the sky above, one skate dangerously close to falling off and smacking him in his face plate.

"Uh, let's try that again." Wheeljack was sprawled on his front with several cracks and chips in his windshield. His wiper blade had torn off completely, and lay bent some distance away.

"Practice makes perfect!" Carly yelled encouragingly. Spike was laughing too hard to say anything.

"Perhaps a more satisfactory outcome would be achieved if we held hands? It may provide added stability."

"I guess it couldn't hurt."

Wheeljack tried to shove himself up. Then he tried again. On the fifth attempt he finally managed to brace himself with his hands flat on the ground and his aft end in the air.

"Well, okay, so now I just, ah…"

Perceptor was too busy refastening his skates to worry about standing for the moment. When that was done, many more minutes passed while he performed a wobble-shuffle combination to meet Wheeljack halfway. The now upright Wheeljack made a desperate grab for Perceptor's hand as he careened out of control.

The pair spun around in opposite directions like an enormous robotic pinwheel. Their incredibly dizzying momentum was halted by their flailing about to regain their balance. Rather than straighten them out, the end result flung Wheeljack violently into one of the few parked cars in the lot. A car alarm started up a shrill wail.

The engineer yanked his upper torso from the crumpled driver-side door of the pickup truck. "Oops, heh. No problem, though. I can fix that, easy."

Perceptor was thrown across the parking lot and into the grassy area, where he took out his second tree of the day. "It would seem that I owe quite a debt to the local flora population. You may desire to reassess your previous statement on the pain factor involved with this enterprise as well." Perceptor winced as he pulled a broken tree branch from his backside.

The two watching teenagers stifled their snickers. "Hurts, doesn't it?" Spike told his robot friends.

"Are you guys okay?" Carly questioned, feeling slightly guilty for laughing.

"We're all right, mostly," Wheeljack responded, scattering various broken pieces belonging to him and the truck all over as he brushed off his chassis. "We'll get the hang of it eventually. Maybe."

The other scientist was not convinced. He had already removed his roller skates and approached his friend with a pronounced limp. Perceptor collapsed next to Wheeljack and informed him, "I most emphatically do not subscribe to the theory of propulsion on diminutive wheels whilst in our robot forms. I wish to cease this avocation."

"For today?" asked Wheeljack.

"For a far longer duration than that," answered Perceptor.

"Here be Wheeljack, Slag, just like me Grimlock told you. You not doubt me Grimlock again." He and the rest of the Dinobots landed in the parking lot and crowded around the inventor and Perceptor, who were still seated on the asphalt.

"You found me all right, good job," Wheeljack said to Grimlock. "But I thought I told you all to stay in the Ark until I came back to take you to the island."

"Me Grimlock decide that we no want to wait for you Wheeljack to bring us presents. So we come get it from you instead."

"Ah, yeah, about those presents…"

"Yes! What has Wheeljack made for Swoop?" The excited robotic Pteranodon peered down at Wheeljack expectantly.

He reluctantly raised one foot to show the Dinobots his creation. "Roller skates. They give you wheels while in robot form. But they haven't worked out very well. I'm thinking about tossin' 'em out," Wheeljack told them.

"I wholeheartedly concur with this decision. I have already sustained numerous injuries from the wretched locomotive devices," Perceptor complained.

The Dinobots impatiently looked to Wheeljack for a translation. "Perceptor got hurt using the roller skates," he clarified.

"Him Perceptor weak." Grimlock dismissed their concerns.

They leaned in closer to the sitting Autobots. A very nervous Perceptor pressed up against Wheeljack. Even in their robot modes, the Dinobots were extremely intimidating. Perceptor decided it would be prudent to agree and pacify them at all costs. "Be that as it may…"

"Me Grimlock want roller skates!"

"Me Sludge want, uh, want what him Grimlock want."

"Swoop say roller skates sound great!"

"How about I make you some different presents?" Wheeljack suggested.

"I don't think the Dinobots are going to let go of the idea so easily," Carly said from her spot on the curb.

"Besides, I don't have enough roller skates for all of you right now," Wheeljack reasoned. "And they'll have to be specially fitted to each of your feet."

"Here Slag's foot." Slag shoved one foot at the pair of scientists aggressively.

"Any assistance that you could render would be most appreciated," a panicked Perceptor called out to the humans.

"Let's all go to the island and play while I think up some more presents to make you," said Wheeljack.

"Sounds like a better idea than roller skating," Spike agreed.

* * *

"Here he comes. Wheeljack'll fix it for us," Bumblebee announced, as he glanced out into the corridor. The rest of the Autobots that were gathered around one of the broken monitors on Teletran 1 cheered.

Wheeljack walked in at that precise moment. "It must be a pretty great television show you guys are watchin' if it's got you all cheerin'."

"No, 'Jack, it's not th' show we're cheerin' for, it's _you_," Jazz responded with a lazy grin.

"For me? Uh, thanks, I guess. What'd I do to deserve it?" Wheeljack stopped in the middle of the communications center and stared at them all in bewilderment.

"It's not what you did; it's what you're gonna do. Can you dig it?" Blaster explained in his own fashion.

Wheeljack still looked confused, so Hound decided to help him out. "It's the television receiver for Teletran 1. It's broken and we were hoping you could fix it."

"Oh, _that_. Sure, no problem. Probably won't take me but a klick," Wheeljack said. "Wouldn't want ta keep ya from your show."

"Film, actually," Hound corrected. "It's _The Muppet Movie_. We were right in the middle of it when the receiver quit working."

"It was just getting to the exciting part, too. It's lots of fun. Stay and watch it with us, Wheeljack," Bumblebee pleaded in his most convincing manner.

"Well, I don't know," answered Wheeljack. "I'm still tryin' ta create somethin' for the Dinobots that they can't break."

"Take a moment and rrrrelax with us, man. This film is totally _groovy_. It'll help you recharge your creative vibe," Beachcomber drawled.

"Yes, yes, it's a fantastic film," reassured Cosmos. "And I should know; I watch plenty of them while I'm stuck out in space on monitoring duty."

"It ain't like your workshop is gonna walk off without ya in it. Just chill with us for a bit," Jazz said as Wheeljack emerged from underneath Teletran 1's secondary console.

"Looks like you've been out-voted. Guess you'll have to stay. If I can talk the twins into watching it with us, you can watch it too," Trailbreaker declared cheerfully.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt if I stayed for a little while," Wheeljack conceded. He switched on the newly repaired screen.

"So, who have we decided Sunstreaker reminds us of?" Sideswipe asked everyone in the room. "I vote for Miss Piggy."

"None of the rest of us is foolish enough to play along with _that_ game." Hound chuckled.

Sideswipe formed an exaggerated pout on his face plate. "You 'bots aren't any fun at all."

"What about Wheeljack? I say he reminds me of that dude that keeps blowing stuff up with dynamite. And Prowl kinda reminds me of Sam the Eagle," said Blaster.

This earned a laugh from Jazz. "Nah, man, Wheeljack can do better than some little ol' dynamite. He's more like this cat here on th' screen now." Jazz gestured to their improvised television. "Dr. Bunsen Honeydew."

"Which 'bot is Beaker, then? Perceptor?" questioned Blaster. The crowd around him chortled in amusement.

"Maybe it's Ratchet," quipped Trailbreaker.

Wheeljack ignored them all. He was entranced by the events unfolding in the movie. "_Whoa_. What's he makin'? Oh, it's an enlarging device!" He stared, optics wide, utterly transfixed by the possibilities.

"Uh oh. I know that look. Seems like our resident mad scientist is inspired again," remarked Bumblebee.

"What will he do with a gizmo that makes stuff bigger? Bring the Minibots up to normal size?" Sunstreaker commented.

"Hey!" Bumblebee protested weakly. It did not pay to assert oneself too strongly with Sunstreaker.

He finally broke optic contact with the screen. "That was amazing! You were right, Beachcomber, it _did_ get my creativity flowin' in another direction! I gotta watch television more often." Wheeljack clapped Beachcomber on the back and hurried off, his processor focused on his new plans.

"That's my cue ta split, too," Jazz said. "I've got places ta go, things ta experience. Can't let life get stale." The others waved him out and went back to viewing the movie.

Prowl entered a brief moment later, as Kermit gained more followers for his journey west on the large computer screen. "What is going on here? Are you all utilizing Teletran 1 for something other than its intended purpose?"

"It's just one of the redundant monitors, Prowl," Hound informed him.

"Irrelevant. There is a perfectly acceptable television-viewing room currently located elsewhere on this base. I believe you are all aware of its existence."

"But the Aerialbots are using it right now!" Sideswipe protested.

"Then you will just have to find something else to do. I know that most of you are scheduled for various other activities now anyway," Prowl said, ushering them out the door.

"But _I_ don't have anything else to do right now. Can't I stay and watch the rest of the movie?" Trailbreaker wheedled.

"Oh, I'm sure I can arrange a more productive pastime for you. Perhaps you'd like to take over Ironhide's duties, since he's late for his shift," Prowl suggested. Trailbreaker, now glum, left quickly.

"How does he do it? Jazz always knows when to stay out of trouble. It's like he has some sixth sense or something," said Bumblebee as he walked out with Blaster.

"I don't know, but Sam here sure knows how to crash a party," complained Blaster.

Once Prowl had confirmed that Ironhide was not at his post, he followed the rest of them out. All, that is, except for the forgotten Cosmos. He remained, still watching _The Muppet Movie_.

* * *

"Are you all right?" Wheeljack looked at Spike, concerned.

"Yeah, I guess. It's just that without Bumblebee, my plans for the day are ruined. I'm worried about him, too."

"He'll be better than ever in no time. I just came from patchin' him up in the med bay. It was just a quick fix. Give him a few hours to let the repair job set an' heal. Then you guys will be back together again." Wheeljack flashed a reassuring white light while he explained all this to Spike.

"Can I go in and see him now?" Spike was still anxious to see for himself that Bumblebee was okay.

"Not yet. Ratch' and I offlined him to help him heal. It'll keep Bumblebee from fidgeting with the repairs. Is there anything I can do for you, Spike?"

"Help me? I should be helping you! You've already done enough. Fixing Bumblebee and keeping Carly from taking me out roller skating again. I owe you one," Spike replied.

"Glad I could help. You know, I still haven't come up with some fun and sturdy presents for the Dinobots. If you have any ideas, let me know."

"Nothing comes to mind, but I'll tell you as soon as I think of something," Spike promised.

"Right now I'm takin' a break. Everyone keeps tellin' me I don't do that enough. I was going ta head out to the desert an' practice my stunt driving. Would you like ta come along for the ride?" Wheeljack offered.

"Sounds like a blast."

* * *

"Hey, weren't you making some sort of enlarging ray? Bumblebee mentioned it to me yesterday. He said Prowl spoiled their movie party, too. I told him I'd make it up to him," Spike told Wheeljack as they raced through the desert. The engineer had a certain destination in mind, and they were almost there.

"I was, but I have so many different projects going, I decided to pass it on. Perceptor was really happy to help me finish it. He says it has real potential." Wheeljack had a panel on his dashboard that lit up as he talked, in much the same way his vocal indicators did when he was in robot mode.

Spike enjoyed the Oregon scenery as it rushed by Wheeljack's curved windshield. "I can't imagine you guys any bigger than you already are."

"Perceptor and I had other uses in mind for it. We could repair small components a lot easier if they were larger," Wheeljack elaborated.

"Makes sense." Spike idly tapped his fingers on an instrument panel. The view out the window changed suddenly and Spike went from relaxed to freaked out in point seven seconds. "Look out!" he yelled.

Wheeljack executed a perfect one hundred and eighty degree turn and stopped right alongside the edge of a gully. It was a steep drop down beyond his tires, which kicked up a slew of rocks and sent them tumbling down the small ravine. "Oh good, we're here."

"Good? That was nearly a horrible fall to our deaths!" Spike tried to keep his voice from squeaking in alarm.

"I've done that dozens a' times before and never missed. Besides, if we'd plunged down into the gully, I would a' been able ta drive us out. An' I've got lots of safety devices I built in ta make sure you'll be all right." Wheeljack revved his engine. "Are ya ready?"

"Ah, I-I guess so. But what did you mean, about surviving a drive down into the gully?" Spike tried to sound calm and casual as he asked his question.

"Want me ta show ya?" Before Spike could respond, Wheeljack had already moved backward in a quick arc, and then sped forward over the edge of the ravine.

"Wai—_aaah_!" There was no hiding the outright fear in his shout this time.

The ground dropped away from Spike's sight, and his stomach plummeted along with it. His hands instinctively grabbed the steering wheel in a death grip. He was torn between watching everything in horrified fascination and closing his eyes tight. He first experimented with squeezing his eyes shut, but he quickly switched to a petrified squint. This was under the assumption that at least this way he'd be partially prepared for his impending doom.

He and Wheeljack were tilted sideways at a sharp angle as they made a rapid descent into the rocky, cracked desert floor below. It wasn't quite the vertical, ninety degree drop that Spike imagined it to be, but at that precise moment Spike was beyond caring about such matters. Other important things—such as how long it'd take Optimus to realize they were missing and then send a recovery team to scrape their mutilated corpses from the bottom of the ravine—concerned him now. His mind tried to butt in with hysterical optimism, urging him to consider how he and Wheeljack might avoid such a fate altogether. Unfortunately, it seemed stark terror had turned most of his brain into tapioca. The rest of his brain was doing an excellent job of panicking.

"You still doin' okay?" asked Wheeljack as they hurtled forward into the dry riverbed.

'Okay' wasn't the first word to spring to what was left of Spike's mind. He tried to convey his reservations on the matter to Wheeljack, but what actually came out of his mouth when he spoke was, "Ohmi eeek um wazlow!"

"Huh?" Wheeljack stopped abruptly. "Sorry, Spike, could ya repeat that? It's not comin' up on any of my translation protocols."

An enormous cloud of dust flew up around them as Wheeljack braked. When it settled, he looked more beige than white. Spike was very thankful for the harness system which held him in place. It took him a few moments to realize that they had made it to the bottom of the gully in one piece. He tried to clear his throat. "I'm fine," Spike croaked.

"So, are ya havin' fun? Do ya want ta keep goin'?"

"I…uh, sure. T-that'd be awesome. Yeah," Spike forced the words from his mouth. _I must be crazy. _

"Here we go!" Wheeljack went from a complete standstill to faster than Spike had ever gone, or wanted to go, in his life. The roar of Wheeljack's engine eclipsed the roaring in Spike's ears as the engineer tore up the side of the small ravine.

As they reached the top, Wheeljack spun out sideways in a move Spike dimly recalled was termed 'drifting'. Spike thought a more appropriate name for it ought to be 'dangerous'. Wheeljack pulled out of the impressive drift and hauled flat out for a tall rock formation in the distance.

The rock face was coming up far more quickly than Spike would have liked. He anticipated a spectacular crash into the wall. He hoped Wheeljack's system of safety features would protect his fragile human body. In a bit of even more wishful thinking, he considered how nice it'd be if Wheeljack turned at the last minute and avoided the rock formation completely.

However, it wasn't meant to be. They went right at the wall. Before Spike could start up a proper scream, they were inside a tunnel Spike hadn't noticed before. Wheeljack's headlights picked out how close the sides of the tunnel were. Just a slight miscalculation on his part would send his chassis smashing into a jagged rock wall. Spike grabbed any part of Wheeljack he could reach and held on.

The sunlight at the end of the tunnel relieved Spike just a little, and he started to loosen up. He'd be fine now. The end was near. Almost…

Oh _no_, the end was near all right; it was right on top of them! Spike had by this time given up on screaming, and settled for tensing up again. They had made it through the tunnel just fine, but now Wheeljack was gleefully leaping over a wide gorge. This was it, and it wouldn't be pretty. Aw _cr_—

Wheeljack touched down smoothly on the other side and was off full tilt once more. They zoomed through the desert, Spike fearfully wondering what would be next, when Bumblebee appeared on the horizon. Wheeljack changed course to meet the other Autobot, halting mere inches from Bumblebee's front bumper.

Spike fumbled with the harness holding him in as soon as Wheeljack stopped. The teen felt Wheeljack release him, and then he was tumbling through the open door. "Oh boy am I happy to see you guys, you don't know how much I missed you Bumblebee," Spike babbled as he rushed to his friend's side. He fell against Bumblebee's passenger door gratefully. His arms splayed out across the beetle-formatted 'bot in a quasi-hug of sheer relief.

Carly had exited Bumblebee on the other side and stood there, clearly amused. "What's all this? You two have only been separated for a couple of hours at most. And it looks like you and Wheeljack have been doing something fun in our absence."

"Fun?" Spike questioned, incredulous.

"Say, can I get a turn, Wheeljack?" Carly asked.

"Absolutely," Wheeljack answered. Carly didn't hesitate to climb in once Wheeljack opened his door.

"No, wait, I wouldn't," Spike began as Wheeljack raced off, "do that if I were you." His voice trailed off in disbelief. He could only stand there, shocked, while the pair disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"So, how was it, Spike?" Bumblebee asked from beside him.

"Let's not get into it."

The other two were back far sooner than Spike expected. It felt like forever while he had been Wheeljack's passenger. "Wow, what a wild ride," gushed Carly. "You know what? You should build yourself a proper stunt driving course out here. It's remote, so you're not likely to run into any people, and there's plenty of space."

"He managed to find lots of extreme tricks to pull without a fancy obstacle course, believe me," Spike mumbled.

"Now that's an idea!" exclaimed Wheeljack, who hadn't noticed Spike's comment.

"What's that?" Spike pointed out behind them. He promised himself never to agree to a ride from Wheeljack again if it involved stunts or racing of any kind.

"Oh, that's Raoul and Tracks. They followed us out here, looking for something to do," Bumblebee replied.

"Out here? In the middle of nowhere?" Spike asked.

"I've got something for them—a proposition." Carly smirked as Tracks pulled up alongside them.

"What's goin' down? This place looks like deadsville." Raoul leaned out Tracks' open window and frowned, taking in the surroundings.

"I've got a proposal that should liven things up," Carly said. "You and Tracks, racing against me and Wheeljack."

"Sounds good ta me," Wheeljack said.

"I accept your challenge," Tracks grandly responded.

"Yeah, we're totally gonna cream them." Raoul rubbed his hand along the top of Tracks' door approvingly.

"We'll see," Carly remarked as she got inside Wheeljack. "But no flying while in vehicle mode, Tracks. It'd be an unfair advantage, since Wheeljack has to transform to fly."

"You have my word of honor. I would not _dream_ of cheating," Tracks insisted, sounding vaguely insulted.

Spike was already entering Bumblebee before the others had agreed to a finish line. "Don't you want to stay and watch?" Bumblebee asked.

"No, it's their funeral," answered Spike, which only confused his robot friend.

* * *

"Still having trouble with those presents for the Dinobots?" Chip inquired, entering Wheeljack's lab the next day.

"Did Spike mention it? Yeah, so far they're either bored, or they break it. I won't give up, though. There's gotta be somethin' I can make for 'em." Wheeljack sat on the floor to be closer to Chip's level.

"Well, I was brainstorming last night, but I couldn't come up with anything. Still, I brought a few of my toys for some inspiration, but I doubt they'll help," Chip told him.

"Really? Let's see 'em." Wheeljack leant forward as Chip pulled out a few items from a backpack attached to his wheelchair.

"This is a Rubik's Cube. I doubt the Dinobots would enjoy a robot-sized version, but you never know. Anyway, it might spark an idea. It's a puzzle that works like this." Chip deftly manipulated the cube in order to align different sides with their corresponding colored squares.

"I don't know about the Dinobots, but I think I like it," Wheeljack commented.

"It goes faster this way," said Spike, coming in behind Chip and snatching the Rubik's Cube away from his friend. Spike proceeded to peel some of the stickers off of the plastic squares and move them so they were stuck back on a matching side.

"Now Spike, that's not how you're supposed to do it," Chip said, laughing.

"Did you show him the Legos yet? Or the slingshot? Did you show him the Slinky, or the Simon game? How about…?" Spike questioned eagerly.

"Not yet. I just got here!" Chip said.

"Slinky?" Wheeljack's curiosity was aroused. "Just how many toys did you bring, anyway?"

"If you want us to show you the Slinky, we're going to have to find something for it to walk down," Chip informed him.

Wheeljack very carefully picked up the tiny Rubik's Cube and peered at it closely. "I might have something around here," he said.

* * *

"Grapple! Hoist! I have an idea an' I'm gonna need your help ta make it!" Wheeljack called out. He walked around Hoist's maintenance bay, looking for his friends.

"An idea?" questioned Grapple.

"Ah, another project!" said Hoist.

"We'd be delighted to assist you, Wheeljack," Grapple affirmed.

"Do you already have the plans drawn up?" Hoist wanted to know.

"We can get started straight away," Grapple said, offering Wheeljack a seat at one of Hoist's work tables.

"Ya see, I was lookin' at some toys Chip and Spike had, an' that's when it came to me," Wheeljack explained, pulling out some datapads from his subspace pocket. They leaned in over his plans, happily listening to Wheeljack's ideas.

* * *

"Wheeljack, you have us all intrigued with your…mysterious project," Optimus Prime stated. "I'm impressed that you managed to keep it secret for so long. Three days has to be a new record for you." Optimus Prime sounded genial on the surface, but underlying his words was the fact that he was not particularly pleased about not being informed of all the project's details beforehand.

Wheeljack chuckled. "Well, I hope you all think it's worth the wait. Shall we unveil it together, fellas? I couldn't a' done it without their help," Wheeljack addressed the crowd of Autobots gathered outside the Ark.

"You are too modest, Wheeljack. You deserve most of the credit," Grapple insisted.

"And most of the blame if it goes wrong!" Huffer shouted from somewhere in the crowd.

"I do not anticipate that failure will be a likely outcome. The unit has undergone the most rigorous testing imaginable," Perceptor chided. Wheeljack had convinced him to help out as well.

"Did you know anything about this, Ratchet?" Optimus Prime questioned the medic.

"Not a thing. I only provided the high grade, for added…_inspiration_," Ratchet answered. His response got a few laughs from the restless group around them. "Wheeljack said he wanted to surprise me."

"I'm not sure I like surprises." Prowl frowned. He did not enjoy being kept in the dark any more than his leader did. "We are still waiting, Wheeljack."

The giant, reinforced cloth was removed, to reveal…an enormous cube-like structure. Its polished chrome gleamed in the bright sun, which shone back into a few irritated optics. A grid pattern covered the large object, except for a few buttons and a control panel near the bottom.

"What the heck is it?" asked Ironhide.

Grapple, Hoist and Perceptor turned toward Wheeljack in a silent offer to let him explain. He shook his helm, cheerfully passing on the job. Hoist stepped closer to the crowd, gesturing behind him at the structure.

"It is a transforming base station! Granted, our first attempt is rather small in scale, consisting of a housing unit capable of limited self power-generating ability, and room for only five Cybertronians at best. However, the future applications are very exciting!" Hoist, thrilled with their work, announced Wheeljack's invention to everyone.

"You say it can generate its own power?" Optimus Prime asked.

Wheeljack raised his left hand and held up one finger as he responded. "Yep, I gotta generator inside which runs off a' solar power, kinda like Snarl, an'…"

Prowl interrupted him. "And it transforms? Why?"

"Well, yeah. It's for defensive purposes mostly, but we thought it made it look more intimidatin', too. Here, lemme show ya," Wheeljack offered, as he worked at the control panel. Everyone stepped back in a hurry.

The gigantic object split along various sections of its outer grid, transforming slowly to reveal something that resembled a big, boxy tank. "We haven't added weapons yet, but we plan on it later," Wheeljack informed them.

Optimus Prime walked around the structure. "This is…very impressive. However, I know the Decepticons would love to get their hands on it. Out here, it's very vulnerable to attack."

"When we add the weapons…" Grapple began.

"Even with weaponry, this thing would sap an excessive amount of our resources defending it," Prowl said.

"Agreed, especially in its early stages of development. Since it appears to be too large to move to a safer location, it'll have to be dismantled," Optimus Prime commanded.

Vocalizations of dismay could be heard coming from Perceptor, Hoist and Grapple, who hung their helms dejectedly. Wheeljack thoughtfully gazed at his creation. "Well, if we all really work at it, we could probably take it down in a day or two," Wheeljack speculated.

"Do it as quickly as possible. Huffer is a qualified engineer; he'll help you," ordered Optimus, shoving the Minibot forward.

"But—but… Aw, wing nuts!" grumbled Huffer.

* * *

After working continuously for the rest of the day with the others to take apart his miniature (by Autobot standards) transforming base unit, Wheeljack was finally finished the following afternoon. He was steered into one of the recreation rooms by a determined group of friends. The others lounged around the official 'television', flipping through the channels aimlessly.

"Wheeljack! I hear you've been busy all week. What ya been up to?" asked Sparkplug. He had just returned to base and was eager to catch up with his friend. "Spike and Chip told me about some toys for the Dinobots?" Spike, sitting next to his father, nodded his head.

"Oh, that was just the beginnin'!" Wheeljack said ruefully. "I've been busy all right. I finally made the Dinobots some jumbo-sized Lego bricks. They were happy enough, until Slag lost his temper an' melted 'em with his fire breath an' his lasers. I gotta work on that with him."

"I'm glad Spike didn't have any of those things when he was younger," Sparkplug commented. "They're lucky you're so patient with 'em, pal."

"Ha, ha, Dad." Spike playfully shoved his dad. "I was a model kid compared to the Dinobots."

"We'll keep trying to help you think of something," Chip encouraged Wheeljack.

"Quit changin' the channel an' settle on somethin', will ya?" Ironhide snapped, grabbing the giant remote control from Cliffjumper and picking a channel at random himself.

"Keep it here Ironhide, please? This is a good show," Chip said, as the opening for _The Red Green Show_ played on the big screen. Everyone settled down to watch it.

After it was over Wheeljack's helm fins flashed a brilliant, thoughtful white in excitement. "Duct tape, huh? I've never experimented with that stuff before. I wonder if it really does all he says it can do? The handyman's secret weapon, eh?" Wheeljack mused. "Sparkplug, wanna come with me an' get some?" Wheeljack was already heading out the door.

"Now Wheeljack, duct tape isn't, ah, well, I don't think it's exactly ideal for all the applications you might use it for…" Sparkplug cautioned, following Wheeljack out.

"Chip, hurry, let's go and keep my dad from talking Wheeljack out of making something wacky with duct tape! This is going to be better than roller skates!" Spike rushed his friend out.

-END-

* * *

**Another note: **This was finished in a hurry, as I'm in the middle of an electrical storm, running off of my laptop's battery. I don't have a surge protector for it. Please feel free to point out any typos, and I'll correct them as soon as possible. The Rubik's Cube, the roller skating, etc., well, what can I say? I wanted to work with things that were popular in the 80s. I still have a Rubik's Cube, and yes, I took the stickers off a time or two. Heh. I hope I did the Dinobots justice.

For anyone unfortunate enough to be unfamiliar with _The Red Green Show_, there is an official website, a few DVDs out there for purchase, and, of course, brief clips on—cough—YouTube. Just remember, keep your stick on the ice!


	13. Dancing Wheeljack

-Dancing Wheeljack

* * *

"Oxygen mixture percentage at optimal levels—check. Pressure gauge reading between point zero five and point zero eight—check. Power light green—check. Fuel levels sufficient—check. Triggering mechanism present—check. Firing pin set in place—oh. That's odd. Where'd it go?"

Wheeljack didn't have long to ponder the location of the missing firing pin before a gust of wind rocked his latest contraption _just _so. _Ka boom_! The steady breeze carried away the resulting cloud of smoke and debris quite nicely.

On the other hand, the odor of burning fuel and chemicals—after spreading for some distance—settled in the air and lingered. Jazz had commanded a mock reconnaissance drill earlier that day, and now he led the small group back to base. Hound's very keen sense of smell caught the scent of the explosion in the air immediately as they drove into the area. Bumblebee's equally sharp vision spotted the remaining wisps of smoke and bits of flaming wreckage that was all that remained of Wheeljack's newest invention.

"There's been a recent explosion in the area and something is still burning," Hound told Jazz. "But it's still too far away for me to see what it is."

"I've got it covered, Hound. I can see some kinda metal object out there—no, wait, there are several objects, and they're on fire. Something else is out there too, but a smoky haze is covering it up. There's too much damage to really identify anything," Bumblebee informed the others.

"Sounds like some potential trouble brewin' up," Jazz decided. "We'd better investigate."

"Decepticons," Brawn guessed.

"Could be," Jazz responded. "Anyway, th' humans won't want their forest set on fire, so we'd better go put it out. I don't need ta tell ya ta be careful. Anythin' movin'?"

"Nope," answered Bumblebee.

* * *

When they arrived on the scene, they surveyed the devastation. "Wait—isn't that Wheeljack?" Brawn asked, pointing and already somewhat concerned.

It was apparent that something was wrong with Wheeljack, who lay sprawled on his back. His optics were dark and his chassis was smoking. Parts of him were blackened and in other places he was covered in light gray foamy goo.

"This doesn't look good." After Bumblebee turned his optics in the direction Brawn indicated, he sounded even more worried.

They hurried over to Wheeljack's still form, where they transformed and stared down at their friend. "Shouldn't we let Ratchet know; tell him we're on our way?" Hound questioned Jazz.

Jazz instantly took charge. "I'm already on it." He activated his comm. "Ratchet, Wheeljack's down. While none of us is an ambulance, we're gonna transport him th' best we can on th' double. Do ya wanna meet us half way or should we send 'im directly ta th' med bay?"

"Well?" Brawn asked impatiently when Jazz was done speaking to Ratchet.

"Th' doc says he already knows Wheeljack's been injured and ta just bring 'im in. We're not far from th' Ark. I guess Wheeljack let Ratchet know about his explosive experiment ahead a' time."

"So, how are we going to transport him? He's too big for me and Brawn to move," Bumblebee wondered anxiously.

"He ain't gonna fit inside me either." Jazz gestured to himself, reminding them that a Porsche race car wasn't the best choice for moving damaged Autobots. "Hound, transform and we'll load 'im up. Your vehicle mode is open, and I think I have somethin' here ta tie 'im down nice an' tight."

After Hound converted into his jeep mode, Brawn and Bumblebee set Wheeljack carefully down inside Hound's open passenger compartment. Brawn, being the strongest, easily lifted the engineer, but Wheeljack's larger bulk meant that Bumblebee had to help position him. There were still parts of Wheeljack hanging off the back end of Hound—an arm here, and a leg there.

Bumblebee tried to tuck in as much as possible. "Hey, Hound? Do ya think you can shift around a bit so I can fit more of Wheeljack on you?"

"I'll try," Hound replied gamely. He moved about on his tires until Wheeljack settled deeper into the jeep's interior.

"Easy does it. Don't jostle him too much. He looks badly damaged," Brawn warned Hound.

"Aw, are you worried about him? That's sweet. I promise to be really gentle when I take him back," Hound teased.

Brawn folded his arms across his chest plate, which he stuck out in a macho pose. "Don't go getting sappy on me now. I was just saying," Brawn commented gruffly.

"Ah ha, got it!" Jazz exclaimed.

He had been digging around in his subspace pocket. Now he walked up to them in triumph. Jazz carried some strong cables with hooks on the ends over to them.

"The extra parts from my grappling hooks ought ta keep Wheeljack in place." Jazz tied him securely to Hound, wrapping the cables around his chassis several times. "Now go take a test drive an' see if it works."

Hound took off slowly and circled back to them. "Roger. He's not falling off at all. I'm going to start back to base now."

As Hound left, Brawn noticed various parts of Wheeljack spread all over the ground. They were mixed in with the remains of Wheeljack's invention. Brawn picked up one of the slightly larger pieces.

"Take a look at this. Wheeljack has left quite a bit of himself behind. We ought to gather as much as we can and bring his parts to Ratchet," Brawn suggested.

Bumblebee looked a little squeamish. Jazz noticed this and came to a quick decision. "Why don't you provide an escort for Hound, just in case he runs in ta trouble. Brawn and I'll stay an' scoop up whatever bits a' Wheeljack he left behind."

"If you're sure," Bumblebee replied with hesitation. He transformed and drove off after Hound.

"You know, this is going to take us hours to find all the parts Wheeljack managed to blow off himself," remarked Brawn.

"Or longer," Jazz slyly informed him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that we have an excuse ta be away from base _all_ day, an' maybe, if we play it right, alllll night," Jazz explained. "Do I need ta spell it out for ya?"

"No, you're coming in loud and clear," Brawn answered with a huge grin. "I mean, most of the pieces are really small and they _are_ scattered far apart."

"Uh huh. An' there sure is a lot a' debris ta sift through around here." Jazz made a sweeping motion encompassing the blast area.

"I like the way you think."

* * *

"So, you knew to expect Wheeljack? Did you make arrangements with him to go pick him up if he didn't tell you the experiment went all right?" Hound asked Ratchet.

"I have my ways," Ratchet answered. "Bring him over here."

Hound drove him over to the berth indicated. Ratchet untied Wheeljack. Then, Ratchet gently picked Wheeljack up and held him for a moment, as he surveyed all the injuries Wheeljack had sustained. With an odd mechanical sound of disgust through his vocalizer, Ratchet set him on the berth and began applying a solvent cleanser to the areas needing repair.

"Too many times, 'Jack," Ratchet said quietly to the inert form of Wheeljack under his hands.

"What's that grayish-white goop all over him?" Bumblebee asked.

"Fire retardant foam. Wheeljack has a fire suppression system built into his arms. His hands convert to extinguishers and normally this has to be under his conscious control. But we finally finished modifying him with some sensors that'll activate the foam independently. Good thing, too. It saved him from further damage," Ratchet informed Bumblebee.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. I remember the extinguishers," Bumblebee said, snapping his fingers with a metallic click. "Only it doesn't look much like foam right now—it's more like a big mess. Is Wheeljack gonna be okay?"

Two sets of optics stared at Ratchet expectantly. He pulled out some tools and prepared to work before he answered. "He'll be fine. It'll just take a while. He's missing quite a few parts, but nothing that'll terminate him. I probably have enough duplicates lying around to fix him up. The way he keeps going I have to have a supply drawer just for him." By now Ratchet was very absorbed in his task of tending to Wheeljack.

"Uh, about those parts. Jazz—" Bumblebee started to explain, but was interrupted.

"_What_?" Wheeljack popped up like a jack-in-the-box and glanced around with a startled look in his optics. "Ooh, that smarts," Wheeljack groaned, clutching his waist.

"Are you surprised? _This_ is what happens when you play around with things that go bang. Now lie back down and rest while I patch you up," Ratchet instructed. He carefully pressed Wheeljack back down on the berth and injected something into Wheeljack's neck.

"Really? Ya know what that means? It works perfectly! Isn't that great?" Wheeljack raved with sky-blue joy, and almost wriggled in glee.

"Just because I blocked your pain sensors doesn't mean you get to squirm around as I work on you," Ratchet groused, a red metal hand pressing down firmly on Wheeljack's uninjured shoulder. "Since that put you in such a good mood, you'll be glad to hear that your new fire detectors functioned like a charm too."

"Fantastic! I was plannin' on testin' that out soon. Now ya know all our hard work paid off," Wheeljack said.

Hound looked puzzled. "So, how were you going to test it, anyway? Set yourself on fire and then knock yourself unconscious?"

Ratchet shook his helm and grumbled, "Don't ask." He continued to weld a cracked plate together.

"What I don't get is why you're happy about blowing up and catching on fire. Was that on purpose?" Bumblebee questioned Wheeljack.

"Not this time. It was just an accident. A lucky one too, because now I know that both of my inventions work great! Well, except for it detonatin' early, but I already got that figured out," Wheeljack said.

"What's lucky," Ratchet said, irritated, "is that you're still mostly in one piece! I ought a' take this wrench to your cranium! And that's another thing. You're missing some of your connectors in your right shoulder. That's more parts I gotta go dig outta the bin." Ratchet brandished his wrench threateningly.

Wheeljack stared back at him calmly, totally unconcerned. "You're not gonna hit me."

Ratchet lowered his arm and jerked a bolt tight. "Wouldn't have worked anyway," he muttered.

"About those parts," Bumblebee repeated, "you'll be happy to know that—" Yet once again he was cut off early by a loud, steady _beep_ sound coming from the med bay's comm. station.

"Would one of you get that? I'm busy," Ratchet said.

Bumblebee went and pressed the switch to answer the call. He made sure to broadcast the conversation over the speakers. "Hello?"

"Bumblebee? Is Ratchet there?" asked Jazz. His voice was only slightly distorted.

"Yeah, what d' ya want?" Ratchet responded.

"So, I take it Wheeljack made it back ta base all right," Jazz said.

"If you consider 'all right' to mean blown to bits, then yes," answered Ratchet, snarky.

"We've got ya covered, Doc. Me an' Brawn are busy out here in the forest gathering all sorts a' pieces a' 'Jack he left behind."

"Don't bother, Jazz, I'm sure I have plenty of extras to get the job done," Ratchet let him know.

"No need to use up your spares, not when we're more than willing t' lend a hand. We'll stick it out all day if that's what it takes," Jazz breezily countered.

"For many, many Earth hours, searching, away from the Ark—no problem!" Brawn's distant, tinny voice had an eager note to it.

"All day," Hound murmured in wonderment, a faint smile appearing on his face plate. "Outdoors, in the woods…that sounds lovely."

Hound looked at Bumblebee. As comprehension dawned in the Minibot's optics, a similar grin formed and grew to match. "Yeah, that _does_ sound like fun. I'd love to help find Wheeljack's parts," Bumblebee agreed.

"You would?" Wheeljack asked.

"I bet I can guess why," Ratchet told Wheeljack.

"We'll come out and help you, Jazz," Hound called out to the comm. station.

"Then that settles it. This is Jazz signing off, over an' out," he said with a flourish.

Bumblebee and Hound ran out of the med bay like their tires were on fire. As they left, Red Alert entered, observing them with interest. "Where are you two mechs headed?" Red Alert inquired.

"To retrieve some of Wheeljack's missing parts," Hound replied, distracted. "Hey Beachcomber," he yelled, "do you want to accompany me into the wilderness? I'm on a…ah, recovery mission."

"Say Spike," Bumblebee shouted at the same time, "we're going out for the day! Make sure you bring your roll of quarters!" The med bay door closed behind the retreating 'bots.

Red Alert approached an unoccupied medical berth and hopped up. He looked over at Ratchet, still working intently on Wheeljack. He also noted Wheeljack's distinctly scorched appearance.

"I'm here for my mandated check-up as required, Ratchet," he said.

"It'd have to be mandated to get you to come in," said Ratchet. "Just wait there for a while until I'm done with Wheeljack."

"I suppose Wheeljack got himself blown up again. Isn't that nice how Bumblebee and Hound want to bring back some of his misplaced pieces?"

Wheeljack just chuckled. "Now I get what's really motivatin' them to leave in such a hurry."

"Their true motivation? What on Cybertron do you mean?" Red Alert demanded to know.

"Just run the facts through your processors. Four mechs—five if you count Beachcomber, unsupervised, allowed to stay away from the Ark for as long as they can justify, with what they consider to be an ironclad excuse…" Ratchet trailed off meaningfully.

There was a significant pause as Red Alert considered this information. "They aren't coming back any time soon, are they?" he finally said.

"Nope," Wheeljack answered cheerfully. "Good thing you _do_ have some spares, right Ratchet?"

* * *

Bumblebee and Spike returned by early evening that day. "Uh, sorry we didn't get here faster. This is all I could find," Bumblebee said, sheepish, as he deposited some random parts on one of Ratchet's supply cabinets.

"Did you two have a good time?" Ratchet questioned pointedly.

"Yeah, until Bumblebee kept getting the high score," Spike answered.

"Ha, what Spike means is that we were playing a game called 'who can find the most pieces of Wheeljack,'" Bumblebee quickly added.

"No, it was called 'Missile Command,'" Spike contradicted.

"Did I just hear Sparkplug calling us? Time to go!" Bumblebee grabbed Spike and left.

* * *

The night was almost over before Jazz showed up in the med bay. The other two could hear him oh-so-faintly singing as he arrived. He waltzed in, glided backward over to Ratchet, and casually dropped some parts into the medic's hand. He leaned against the berth Wheeljack was reclining on. Ratchet had completed most of the repairs earlier.

"Here's a humble little contribution to Wheeljack's spare parts fund," Jazz explained with a saucy grin.

"And so timely too," Ratchet sarcastically commented.

"I do my best," Jazz said, unperturbed. "'Course, there was the matter of a slight detour to a rock concert. All courtesy of Wheeljack here. Anytime you need someone t' snatch ya back up, I'm your man, 'Jack."

"It's nice ta know I made at least one 'bot happy with my explosions," Wheeljack said, laughing, his helm fins flashing brightly.

"Humph. Jazz isn't the one who has to worry about you," Ratchet said.

"Why worry? It looks like you did a bang up job fixin' him. In fact, looks ta me like Wheeljack is ready ta dance," Jazz declared, pulling Wheeljack up into his arms.

"What corrosion has entered your circuits this time?" Ratchet snapped, annoyed. "_Dancing_?"

"I'm just showing my appreciation. Besides, 'Jack doesn't mind," Jazz said, twirling Wheeljack around. Jazz tugged Wheeljack back in next to him and guided him across the med bay floor. "When I'm dancing close to him I can smell the chemicals. _Science_!" Jazz sang.

"The chemicals are probably leftover residue from the blast and the solvent I used to clean him up," Ratchet muttered, shaking his helm in disgust.

Jazz ignored Ratchet and continued to dance with Wheeljack. His partner was less graceful, but quickly catching on. "_Mmm_…but it's poetry in motion. When he turned his eyes to me—as deep as any ocean, as sweet as any harmony."

Wheeljack obliged Jazz and stared right into his visor. But he couldn't hold the pose for long before he fell into helpless giggles. Instead, Wheeljack leaned against Jazz's chest plate, shaking with mirth.

"When he's dancing beside me—blinding me with science—I can hear machinery!" Jazz continued to vocalize with enthusiasm. He spun Wheeljack out and back again.

"Of course you can hear machinery, you glitch-head!" an irritated Ratchet swore.

"_Mmm_… He blinded me with science and hit me with a blast of technology." Jazz dramatically placed one hand over his front racing stripe. "Good heavens Wheeljack, you're beautiful!" Jazz dipped Wheeljack back over his arm and then handed him off to Ratchet.

"You shouldn't exert yourself so soon after being repaired," Ratchet scolded Wheeljack. He had a sour expression on his face plate.

Wheeljack was giggling too hard to notice, his helm on Ratchet's shoulder. After a moment he was able to look up at Jazz. "Someone must a' enjoyed themselves a whole lot at the rock concert."

"Don't you know it! You should come next time, 'Jack. You'll have an excellent time! There's almost nothin' better," Jazz stated.

"Do I have ta blow myself up first?"

-END-

* * *

**Note:** I will catch up with all my review responses, PM or not, I swear. But right now I want to say thanks to Thomas Dolby for the inspiring song which I—excuse me, _Jazz_ altered. It seemed like something he would do, and it fit Wheeljack so well! I did write in an opening for your prompt suggestion, Fire From Above, so thanks for that.

I also want to thank those who supplied me with Transformer names for necessary original characters. That really is a difficult thing to come up with. I might actually be able to finally start my other story (independent from 35 WJs) that Fire From Above suggested, _Intern Wheeljack_. It's been living in my head so long I'm really eager to begin typing it all out.

Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! I hope you like this latest bit of silliness.


	14. Determined Wheeljack

-Determined Wheeljack

**Note:** A warning for violence. Later chapters will also contain violence, and I will warn accordingly.

* * *

The ship hovered several mechanometers above them, its engine humming eerily in the background. Its gleaming pale blue hull stood out against the dusty beige sky. No visible egress was apparent on its exterior shell. The means of propulsion it employed was likewise hidden from view.

By its very presence, such a wonder of advanced technology would strike fear and panic amongst the primitive inhabitants of the backwater planet. That is, it would have if most of the population hadn't been decimated vorns ago through a deadly war concerning natural resources. The few survivors had long ago scattered far across the planet's surface.

A few sand dunes were all that remained to break up the endless monotony of the surrounding landscape. The four left standing in the barren wasteland that once supported a lush jungle were not easily spooked. Two of the group, having stolen the ship many cycles past, had by now become mostly well-acquainted with the workings of the spacecraft. The other pair consisted of Wheeljack and Ratchet.

Under normal circumstances Ratchet and most especially Wheeljack would have been eager to learn more about the curious new spacecraft. Questions would have poured forth from their vocal processors, possibly accompanied by a request for a closer inspection of the ship. But it was not an ideal situation the two mechs found themselves in.

Instead, the Cybertronians stood stiff and mute, a cold, hard look in their optics. Ratchet's mouth was a mere slash across his face plate, his very demeanor radiating hostility. Beside him, Wheeljack had adopted a protective stance, his metal hands clenched and ready for battle.

This was all easily explained by the fact that their companions were each holding a very large weapon in their hands. The weapons were the sort that promised their own violence, which would be far more swift and permanent than Wheeljack's fists. In fact, the guns practically screamed _danger—don't even think about it, _straight from their highly polished barrels.

Ratchet had been subtly trying to place himself in front of Wheeljack, who wasn't allowing it. This motivated Ratchet to finally take direct action to defend Wheeljack and subdue their captors. The tall, organic beings had already exhausted Wheeljack's supply of weaponry and tricks with stolen shield generators, in addition to the big guns they carried. But Ratchet knew that Wheeljack's final shot had taken out the aliens' personal shields, and the medic was desperate to end this. Their continued survival after the aliens were through trying to get what they wanted from Wheeljack was uncertain anyway.

No warning cry marked his lunge for one of the alien's weapons. Ratchet simply threw his considerable bulk against his closest enemy, hoping to wrestle the gun into his own hands. He meant to use the alien as a hostage for his and Wheeljack's release.

The tussle was fierce and brutal. Ratchet was used to hand-to-hand combat, and smashed his fist into the face of his opponent. A golden-colored fluid oozed its sticky substance down the alien's face and neck as Ratchet grappled for control of the weapon. The alien whimpered while Ratchet dug his fingers into the tough, rubbery musculature which gripped the large pistol.

Without a moment's hesitation the other alien raised her gun and fired, the shot exploding against Ratchet's side with tremendous force. His chassis slammed them both backward. The alien he had fought with stumbled to the ground with the impact. He quickly rose, dropping Ratchet's body into the sand. The front of the alien's tunic was covered in burn marks which he smacked at irritably.

"Jaral, you could have killed me! Another few microns and that blast would have hit my chest! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that your inattentiveness was about to cost us our objective. Have you forgotten that we still need to retrieve the item from the other creature? I will do whatever it takes to get it and successfully complete our mission," she responded angrily. "I'm surprised at your reaction."

"You're surprised? Are you kidding? We're talking about my life here!" he snapped, obviously still shaken by his ordeal.

The entire confrontation had ended too quickly for Wheeljack to do anything about it until now. One moment Ratchet battled the alien while Wheeljack sought a way to get between them without harming Ratchet. The next instant it was all over.

For an astrosecond or two Wheeljack remained absolutely immobile. Shock hit his systems as he received an overload of emotion. A few mechanical high-pitched clicks and squeals stuttered from his vocalizer, a prelude to the grief attempting to crash him. He shook his helm in denial and then acted immediately without further thought.

Wheeljack leapt for Ratchet's body, lying still and forgotten on the ground. The two aliens continued to quarrel around him. But his luck, if it could be called that, didn't last.

Unfortunately, Jaral spotted his quick movement out of the corner of her eyes. "You idiot! Get your gun!" she shouted at her companion.

Her arms were a blur as she went to intercept Wheeljack. Jaral's weapon moved so fast that the mouth of the gun scraped against the lower half of his face. The barrel came to a stop in the top groove, resting right below his left optic. Wheeljack froze in place, hands still outstretched to try and grab Ratchet.

"Up!" Jaral commanded. "That is, unless you want your head blown clean off your miserable robot body."

The other alien had by now retrieved his weapon that he'd lost in his scuffle earlier with Ratchet. He moved to stand over Ratchet's inanimate form. Wheeljack reluctantly rose. Jaral's gun never budged from his face.

"Betuin, I'm getting really tired of compensating for your mistakes," she growled at the other alien.

"Mine…!" he sputtered back at her. His blue and green mottled skin flushed a sickly puce color. Both aliens had a guttural voice, which contained an odd hissing quality. "It was _you_ who allowed them time to hide the device after they crash-landed on this dust heap!"

"I was busy trying to repair the guidance system they damaged while shooting at us! It's just that unimportant little thing that'll _help us get out of here_!" she yelled. "You've certainly never tried to understand the operation manual."

"Stupid junker craft anyway," Betuin complained. "I told you we could have stolen something better at the last space port."

"Not so fast," Jaral hissed at Wheeljack, powering up her weapon with a loud whine. Wheeljack's optics remained fixed on Ratchet. He had tried once again to move toward his fallen companion.

"I don't know why you're so concerned with that bit of refuse." Betuin laughed harshly.

"Refuse!" Jaral mimicked his laughter. "That's exactly what he is now. And you will join him if you don't tell us the location of your hidden device immediately. I wouldn't have had to kill anyone if you had just cooperated from the beginning."

"His name is _Ratchet_," Wheeljack spoke for the first time. His voice reflected his fury and pain. "And you can both go straight to the pit. Find the device yourselves."

"Don't you mean 'was'? After all, he's just been terminated." Betuin wheezed in sibilant laughter once more.

"Let's be reasonable. You want to get back to your piece of trash. We need the device for our cause. We were told that the Wheeljack creates the finest weapons in this quadrant, if not the entire galaxy. And we _will_ have the best. Once we've safely recovered the device, we'll leave you with your old rubbish. Now, isn't that generous?" Jaral flashed a malicious smile at Wheeljack.

"You might even be able to get away after we go. That is, if you can manage to dig out your craft that was swallowed in the sand. I don't know how you'll repair it in this wasteland, but that's your problem, not ours," said Betuin. He waved his gun menacingly.

"I'm not helping you." Wheeljack's flat vocalization was suffused with static.

"Come now, tell us quickly and it'll all be over. You think your dearly departed trash might still be alive, don't you? Well, even you with your foolish notions realize that time is of the essence if that's the case. Every moment you delay causes him greater harm," Jaral said.

Wheeljack continued to stare at Ratchet. The design of his face plate kept his inner turmoil hidden from view. However, his posture loudly communicated his tension and despair. Jaral, who could not read him, dragged her weapon across his helm to remind him of his predicament.

"The second dune," Wheeljack finally said. His voice was barely audible to his captors.

"There's nothing there but sand! He's mad, you know. They said the Wheeljack was unpredictable, and they were right. This is more trouble than it's worth," Betuin griped.

"It's worth everything! His device will turn the tide of the war in our favor once and for all. We will defeat them, and be victorious! Imagine it, our planet once more under our control. And all of it thanks to the Wheeljack's device," Jaral declared.

"It won't do you any good. I didn't design it for your kind," Wheeljack said.

"These weapons weren't designed for either of our life forms, and as you can see, they still work just fine," Jaral informed him angrily. "Now where is it, before I use the gun again. You won't be of any use to your precious refuse dead."

"I already told you, the second dune! There's an old bunker buried within it. It's in there," Wheeljack said. His anger and disgust rivaled her own, and helped him sublimate his grief.

She finally moved her gun to give Wheeljack room to walk. "Move it! You'll go first."

He went ahead of them stiffly, as if he was being yanked by invisible strings. "You're makin' a big mistake. War never solves anythin'. You'll only destroy your planet, and be left with nothin'. The same thing must a' happened here, and it's happenin' on my planet too. You should quit while you still can. There are other ways…" he tried to convince them.

Wheeljack worked the control panel at the disguised entrance while he spoke. As he finished, Betuin shoved him inside the bunker. He barely managed to keep upright. The only illumination in the place came from his optics.

"Where are the lights?" Jaral asked, annoyed.

"The lighting system is activated from the right side of the door," Wheeljack said in a dead voice. His vocal indicators sent a creepy, bizarre glow into the darkness.

The lights sprung to life as Jaral ordered Betuin to take care of it. "Just as you have stopped engaging in your own war? Your planet may be dying, but ours' lives yet!" Jaral swore.

"I wish I could," Wheeljack whispered, his optics on the entrance that Betuin guarded with his enormous pistol. "Or maybe I still can." The emptiness in his optics was replaced with determination.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her eyes searching for his device.

"I'm goin' ta end it. Never again will I allow another a' my inventions ta work for the purpose a' warfare. I was raised ta take responsibility for my mistakes, and I've always tried ta live by that. This stops here," he said, fully determined to carry out his actions.

"What does the demented creature mean? I say we just grab the device and go. We don't even need him to show us how it works," Betuin insisted.

"Are you frightened by the unarmed alien?" she mocked.

"Believe me, he's scary enough even without his weapons," Betuin answered.

"Oh, I _am_ armed, and I'm gonna show you exactly how my device works," Wheeljack said. He stood next to a large square box. It looked like a strange piece of furniture, but the other two rapidly realized what it must be.

"You won't do it. You could be killed," Jaral stated, perhaps in an attempt to convince herself of that fact.

"I'm gonna set it to overload. When I'm through with it, it's not gonna just take out me and itself, but also this bunker and anyone still in it. If I were you, I'd leave now," Wheeljack flatly responded.

"You're bluffing," she said.

"No, I think he's serious," hissed Betuin, already glancing nervously out the door.

"Yes, I am. An' I've given ya fair warning." His hands moved across the side of the device they couldn't see. It began to vibrate.

Jaral decided not to take any chances. Her skin was suddenly more important than calling his bluff. "Let's get out of here." The pair bolted for the exit.

They cleared the bunker in record time. A blinding flash of white light seared their retinas. The sound was so intense they were rendered temporarily deaf as they were thrown far into the sand.

-END-

* * *

**Note: **Originally I was going to go further with this, with a longer, more decisive ending. But at the last moment I decided to end it here, and let the readers draw whatever conclusion they wished.

I'm going to be so busy these next several months, I don't know when I'm going to be able to squeeze some writing time in, which doesn't make me very happy. Also, I'm hitting writer's block, and I keep avoiding the few prompts left that I already have worked out completely. These are "Angsty", "Silly", "Kick-aft" and "On His Knees". So once again I wrote something else first before finishing those. Please, feel free to poke me into finally getting those stories out. I need the prodding. I won't feel somewhat accomplished until I do.

I thought at first when I started my Wheeljack stories that I'd feel I'd achieved something if I ever managed to reach 50,000 words. Well, here it is, but all I feel is that I probably don't know when to cut it short. Then I thought reaching 15 Wheeljacks would do it. I haven't done that yet, but now that I've promised myself at least 35 stories... Well, 15 isn't even half-way, and I've managed even less that are actually part of the 28 list. What I really want is to finally manage to just write the four tricky prompts already. Sheesh, I even edited chapter 10 before writing them, both to try to make it better and avoid working on them.


End file.
